THE 


PENNSYLVANIA    PILGRIM, 


AND    OTHER    POEMS. 


BY 


JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 


BOSTON : 
JAMES   R.  OSGOOD   AND    COMPANY, 

LATE  TICKNOR  &  FIELDS,  AND  FIELDS,  OSGOOD,  &  Co. 
1872. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1872, 

BY  JOHN    G.  WHITTIER, 
in  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


UNIVERSITY  PRESS:  WELCH,  BIGELOW,  &  Co., 
CAMBRIDGE. 


CONTENTS. 


THE  PENNSYLVANIA  PILGRIM 21 

MISCELLANEOUS. 

THE  PAGEANT •  .       .       .65 

THE  SINGER 74 

CHICAGO 81 

MY  BIRTHDAY 84 

THE  BREWING  OF  SOMA 89 

A  WOMAN 95 

DISARMAMENT 97 

THE  ROBIN 99 

THE  SISTERS 101 

MARGUERITE 107 

KING  VOLMER  AND  ELSIE 113 

THE  THREE  BELLS  .  126 


FRANCIS   DANIEL   PASTORIUS. 

THE  beginning  of  German  emigration  to  America  may 
be  traced  to  the  personal  influence  of  William  Penn,  who 
in  1677  visited  the  Continent,  and  made  the  acquaintance 
of  an  intelligent  and  highly  cultivated  circle  of  Pietists,  or 
Mystics,  who,  reviving  in  the  seventeenth  century  the  spirit- 
ual faith  and  worship  of  Tauler  and  the  "  Friends  of  God  " 
in  the  fourteenth,  gathered  about  the  pastor  Spener,  and  the 
young  and  beautiful  Eleonora  Johanna  Von  Merlau.  In 
this  circle  originated  the  Frankfort  Land  Company,  which 
bought  of  William  Penn,  the  Governor  of  Pennsylvania,  a 
tract  of  land  near  the  new  city  of  Philadelphia. 

The  company's  agent  in  the  New  World  was  a  rising 
young  lawyer,  Francis  Daniel  Pastorius,  son  of  Judge  Pas- 
torius,  of  Windsheim,  who,  at  the  age  of  seventeen,  entered 
the  University  of  Altorf.  He  studied  law  at  Strasburg, 
Basle,  and  Jena,  and  at  Ratisbon,  the  seat  of  the  Imperial 
Government,  obtained  a  practical  knowledge  of  interna- 
tional polity.  Successful  in  all  his  examinations  and  dis- 
putations, he  received  the  degree  of  Doctor  of  Laws  at  Nu- 
remberg in  1676.  In  1679  he  was  a  law-lecturer  at  Frank- 


Vlll  FRANCIS   DANIEL   PASTORIUS. 

fort,  where  he  became  deeply  interested  in  the  teachings  of 
Dr.  Spener.  In  1680  -81  he  travelled  in  France,  England, 
Ireland,  and  Italy  with  his  friend  Herr  Von  Rodeck.  "  I 
was,"  he  says,  "  glad  to  enjoy  again  the  company  of  my 
Christian  friends,  rather  than  be  with  Von  Rodeck  feasting 
and  dancing."  In  1683,  in  company  with  a  small  number 
of  German  Friends,  he  emigrated  to  America,  settling  upon 
the  Frankfort  Company's  tract  between  the  Schuylkill  and 
the  Delaware  Rivers.  The  township  was  divided  into  four 
hamlets,  namely,  Germantown,  Krisheim,  Crefield,  and 
Sommerhausen.  Soon  after  his  arrival  he  united  himself 
with  the  Society  of  Friends,  and  became  one  of  its  most 
able  and  devoted  members,  as  well  as  the  recognized  head 
and  lawgiver  of  the  settlement.  He  married,  two  years 
after  his  arrival,  Anneke  (Anna),  daughter  of  Dr.  Kloster- 
man,  of  Muhlheim. 

In  the  year  1688  he  drew  up  a  memorial  against  slavehold- 
ing,  which  Was  adopted  by  the  Germantown  Friends  and 
sent  up  to  the  Monthly  Meeting,  and  thence  to  the  Yearly 
Meeting  at  Philadelphia.  It  is  noteworthy  as  the  first  pro- 
test made  by  a  religious  body  against  Negro  Slavery.  The 
original  document  was  discovered  in  1844  by  the  Philadel- 
phia antiquarian,  Nathan  Kite,  and  published  in  "  The 
Friend  "  (Vol.  XVIII.  No.  16).  It  is  a  bold  and  direct 
appeal  to  the  best  instincts  of  the  heart.  "  Have  not,"  he 
asks,  "  these  negroes  as  much  right  to  fight  for  their  free- 
dom as  you  have  to  keep  them  slaves  ? " 


FRANCIS   DANIEL    PASTORIUS.  IX 

Under  the  wise  direction  of  Pastorius,  the  Germantown 
settlement  grew  and  prospered.  The  inhabitants  planted 
orchards  and  vineyards,  and  surrounded  themselves  with 
souvenirs  of  their  old  home.  A  large  number  of  them 
were  linen-weavers,  as  well  as  small  fanners.  The  Quakers 
were  the  principal  sect,  but  men  of  all  religions  were  tol- 
erated, and  lived  together  in  harmony.  In  1692  Richard 
Frame  published,  in  what  he  called  verse,  a  "  Description 
of  Pennsylvania,"  in  which  he  alludes  to  the  settlement :  — 

"  The  German  town  of  which  I  spoke  before, 
Which  is  at  least  in  length  one  mile  or  more, 
Where  lives  High  German  people  and  Low  Dutch, 
Whose  trade  in  weaving  linen  cloth  is  much, — 
There  grows  the  flax,  as  also  you  may  know 
That  from  the  same  they  do  divide  the  tow. 
Their  trade  suits  well  their  habitation,  — 
We  find  convenience  for  their  occupation." 

Pastorius  seems  to  have  been  on  intimate  terms  with  Wil- 
liam Penn,  Thomas  Lloyd,  Chief  Justice  Logan,  Thomas 
Story,  and  other  leading  men  in  the  Province  belonging  to 
his  own  religious  society,  as  also  with  Kelpius,  the  learned 
Mystic  of  the  Wissahickon,  with  the  pastor  of  the  Swedes' 
church,  and  the  leaders  of  the  Mennonites.  He  wrote  a  de- 
scription of  Pennsylvania,  which  was  published  at  Frankfort 
and  Leipsicin  1700  and  1701.  His  "  Lives  of  the  Saints," 
etc.,  written  in  German  and  dedicated  to  Prof.  Schurm- 
berg,  his  old  teacher,  was  published  in  1690.  He  left  be- 


X  FRANCIS    DANIEL    PASTORIUS. 

hind  him  many  unpublished  manuscripts  covering  a  very 
wide  range  of  subjects,  most  of  which  are  now  lost.  One 
huge  manuscript  folio,  entitled  "  Hive  Beestock,  Melliotro- 
pheum  Alucar,  or  Rusca  Apium,"  still  remains,  contain- 
ing one  thousand  pages  with  about  one  hundred  lines  to 
a  page.  It  is  a  medley  of  knowledge  and  fancy,  history, 
philosophy,  and  poetry,  written  in  seven  languages.  A 
large  portion  of  his  poetry  is  devoted  to  the  pleasures  of 
gardening,  the  description  of  flowers,  and  the  care  of 
bees.  The  following  specimen  of  his  punning  Latin  is 
addressed  to  an  orchard-pilferer  :  — 

"  Quisquis  in  haec  furtim  reptas  viridaria  nostra 
Tangere  fallaci  poma  caveto  manu, 
Si  non  obsequeris  faxit  Deus  omne  quod  opto, 
Cum  malis  nostris  ut  mala  cuncta  feras." 

Professor  Oswald  Seidensticker,  to  whose  papers  in  Der 
Deutsche  Pioneer 'and  that  able  periodical  the  "  Penn  Month- 
ly," of  Philadelphia,  I  am  indebted  for  many  of  the  foregoing 
facts  in  regard  to  the  German  pilgrims  of  the  New  World, 
thus  closes  his  notice  of  Pastorius  :  — 

"  No  tombstone,  not  even  a  record  of  burial,  indicates 
where  his  remains  have  found  their  last  resting-place,  and 
the  pardonable  desire  to  associate  the  homage  due  to  this 
distinguished  man  with  some  visible  memento  cannot  be 
gratified.  There  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that  he  was  in- 
terred in  any  other  place  than  the  Friends'  old  burying- 
ground  in  Germantown,  though  the  fact  is  not  attested  by 


FRANCIS    DANIEL   PASTORIUS.  XI 

any  definite  source  of  information.  After  all,  this  oblitera- 
tion of  the  last  trace  of  his  earthly  existence  is  but  typical 
of  what  has  overtaken  the  times  which  he  represents ;  that 
Germantown  which  he  founded,  which  saw  him  live  and 
move,  is  at  present  but  a  quaint  idyl  of  the  past,  almost  a 
myth,  barely  remembered  and  little  cared  for  by  the  keener 
race  that  has  succeeded." 

The  Pilgrims  of  Plymouth  have  not  lacked  historian  and 
poet.  Justice  has  been  done  to  their  faith,  courage,  and 
self-sacrifice,  and  to  the  mighty  influence  of  their  endeav- 
ors to  establish  righteousness  on  the  earth.  The  Quaker 
pilgrims  of  Pennsylvania,  seeking  the  same  object  by  dif- 
ferent means,  have  not  been  equally  fortunate.  The  power 
of  their  testimony  for  truth  and  holiness,  peace  and  free- 
dom, enforced  only  by  what  Milton  calls  "  the  unresistible 
might  of  meekness,"  has  been  felt  through  two  centuries  in 
the  amelioration  of  penal  severities,  the  abolition  of  slavery, 
the  reform  of  the  erring,  the  relief  of  the  poor  and  suffer- 
ing, —  felt,  in  brief,  in  every  step  of  human  progress.  But 
of  the  men  themselves,  with  the  single  exception  of  Wil- 
liam Penn,  scarcely  anything  is  known.  Contrasted,  from 
the  outset,  "with  the  stern,  aggressive  Puritans  of  New  Eng- 
land, they  have  come  to  be  regarded  as  "  a  feeble  folk," 
with  a  personality  as  doubtful  as  their  unrecorded  graves. 
They  were  not  soldiers,  like  Miles  Standish  ;  they  had  no 
figure  so  picturesque  as  Vane,  no  leader  so  rashly  brave 
and  haughty  as  Endicott.  No  Cotton  Mather  wrote  their 


Xll  FRANCIS    DANIEL   PASTORIUS. 

Magnalia ;  they  had  no  awful  drama  of  supernaturalism  in 
which  Satan  and  his  angels  were  actors ;  and  the  only 
witch  mentioned  in  their  simple  annals  was  a  poor  old 
Swedish  woman,  who,  on  complaint  of  her  countrywomen, 
was  tried  and  acquitted  of  everything  but  imbecility  and 
folly.  Nothing  but  commonplace  offices  of  civility  came  to 
pass  between  them  and  the  Indians ;  indeed,  their  enemies 
taunted  them  with  the  fact  that  the  savages  did  not  regard 
them  as  Christians,  but  just  such  men  as  themselves.  Yet 
it  must  be  apparent  to  every  careful  observer  of  the  pro- 
gress of  American  civilization  that  its  two  principal  currents 
had  their  sources  in  the*  entirely  opposite  directions  of 
the  Puritan  and  Quaker  colonies.  To  use  the  words  of  a 
late  writer  :  *  "  The  historical  forces,  with  which  no  others 
may  be  compared  in  their  influence  on  the  people,  have 
been  those  of  the  Puritan  and  the  Quaker.  The  strength 
of  the  one  was  in  the  confession  of  an  invisible  Presence,  a 
righteous,  eternal  Will,  which  would  establish  righteousness 
on  earth  ;  and  thence  arose  the  conviction  of  a  direct  per- 
sonal responsibility,  which  could  be  tempted  by  no  external 
splendor  and  could  be  shaken  by  no  internal  agitation,  and 
could  not  be  evaded  or  transferred.  The  strength  of  the 
other  was  the  witness  in  the  human  spirit  to  an  eternal 
Word,  an  Inner  Voice  which  spoke  to  each  alone,  while 
yet  it  spoke  to  every  man  ;  a  Light  which  each  was  to  fol- 
low, and  which  yet  was  the  light  of  the  world ;  and  all  other 
*  Mulford's  Nation,  pp.  267,  268. 


FRANCIS    DANIEL    PASTORIUS.  Xlll 

voices  were  silent  before  this,  and  the  solitary  path  whither 
it  led  was  more  sacred  than  the  worn  ways  of  cathedral- 
aisles." 

It  will  be  sufficiently  apparent  to  the  reader  that,  in  the 
poem  which  follows,  I  have  attempted  nothing  beyond  a 
study  of  the  life  and  times  of  the  Pennsylvania  colonist, — 
a  simple  picture  of  a  noteworthy  man  and  his  locality. 
The  colors  of  my  sketch  are  all  very  sober,  toned  down  to 
the  quiet  and  dreamy  atmosphere  through  which  its  subject 
is  visible.  Whether,  in  the  glare  and  tumult  of  the  present 
time,  such  a  picture  will  find  favor  may  well  be  questioned. 
I  only  know  that  it  has  beguiled  for  me  some  hours  of 
weariness,  and  that,  whatever  may  be  its  measure  of  public 
appreciation,  it  has  been  to  me  its  own  reward. 

J.  G.  W. 

AMESBURY,  Fifth  Month,  1872. 


HAIL  to  posterity! 
Hail,  future  men  of  Germanopolis  ! 

Let  the  young  generations  yet  to  be 
Look  kindly  upon  this. 

Think  how  your  fathers  left  their  native  land, — 
Dear    German-land !      O    sacred    hearths    and 

homes  !  — 
And,  where  the  wild  beast  roams, 

In  patience  planned 
New  forest-homes  beyond  the  mighty  sea, 

There  undisturbed  and  free 
To  live  as  brothers  of  one  family. 
What  pains  and  cares  befell, 
What  trials  and  what  fears, 


XVI  HAIL    TO    POSTERITY. 

Remember,  and  wherein  we  have  done  well 
Follow  our  footsteps,  men  of  coming  years 
Where  we  have  failed  to  do 

Aright,  or  wisely  live, 
Be  warned  by  us,  the  better  way  pursue, 
And,  knowing  we  were  human,  even  as  you, 

Pity  us  and  forgive  ! 
Farewell,  Posterity  ! 
Farewell,  dear  Germany ! 
Forevermore  farewell ! 


From  the  Latin  of  FRANCIS  DANIEL  PASTORIUS  in  the  German- 
town  Records.     1688. 


THE  PENNSYLVANIA  PILGRIM. 


PRELUDE. 

I  SING  the  Pilgrim  of  a  softer  clime 

And  milder  speech  than   those   brave  men's  who 

brought 
To  the  ice  and  iron  of  our  winter  time 

A  will  as  firm,  a  creed  as  stern,  and  wrought 

With  one  mailed  hand,  and  with  the  other  fought. 
Simply,  as  fits  my  theme,  in  homely  rhyme 

I  sing  the  blue-eyed  German  Spener  taught, 
Through  whose  veiled,  mystic  faith  the  Inward  Light, 

Steady  and  still,  an  easy  brightness,  shone, 
Transfiguring  all  things  in  its  radiance  white. 
The  garland  which  his  meekness  never  sought 

I  bring  him  ;  over  fields  of  harvest  sown 

With  seeds  of  blessing,  now  to  ripeness  grown, 
I  bid  the  sower  pass  before  the  reapers'  sight. 


THE    PENNSYLVANIA    PILGRIM. 

NEVER  in  tenderer  quiet  lapsed  the  day 
From  Pennsylvania's  vales  of  spring  away, 
Where,  forest-walled,  the  scattered  hamlets  lay 

Along  the  wedded  rivers.     One  long  bar 
Of  purple  cloud,  on  which  the  evening  star 
Shone  like  a  jewel  on  a  scimitar, 

Held  the  sky's  golden  gateway.     Through  the  deep 
Hush  of  the  woods  a  murmur  seemed  to  creep, 
The  Schuylkill  whispering  in  a  voice  of  sleep. 


22  THE   PENNSYLVANIA   PILGRIM. 

All  else  was  still.  The  oxen  from  their  ploughs 
Rested  at  last,  and  from  their  long  day's  browse 
Came  the  dun  files  of  Krisheim's  home-bound  cows. 

And  the  young  city,  round  whose  virgin  zone 
The  rivers  like  two  mighty  arms  were  thrown, 
Marked  by  the  smoke  of  evening  fires  alone, 

Lay  in  the  distance,  lovely  even  then 
With  its  fair  women  and  its  stately  men 
Gracing  the  forest  court  of  William  Penn, 

Urban  yet  sylvan  ;  in  its  rough-hewn  frames 
Of  oak  and  pine  the  dryads  held  their  claims, 
And  lent  its  streets  their  pleasant  woodland  names. 

Anna  Pastorius  down  the  leafy  lane 

Looked  city-ward,  then  stooped  to  prune  again 

Her  vines  and  simples,  with  a  sigh  of  pain. 


THE   PENNSYLVANIA   PILGRIM.  23 

For  fast  the  streaks  of  ruddy  sunset  paled 
In  the  oak  clearing,  and,  as  daylight  failed, 
Slow,  overhead,  the  dusky  night-birds  sailed. 

Again  she  looked  :  between  green  walls  of  shade, 
With  low-bent  head  as  if  with  sorrow  weighed, 
Daniel  Pastorius  slowly  came  and  said, 

"  God's  peace  be  with  thee,  Anna ! "  Then  he  stood 
Silent  before  her,  wrestling  with  the  mood 
Of  one  who  sees  the  evil  and  not  good. 

"  What  is  it,  my  Pastorius  ? "  As  she  spoke, 
A  slow,  faint  smile  across  his  features  broke, 
Sadder  than  tears.  "  Dear  heart,"  he  said,  "  our  folk 

"Are  even  as  others.     Yea,  our  goodliest  Friends 
Are  frail ;  our  elders  have  their  selfish  ends, 
And  few  dare  trust  the  Lord  to  make  amends 


24  THE   PENNSYLVANIA   PILGRIM.   , 

"For  duty's  loss.     So  even  our  feeble  word 
For  the  dumb  slaves  the  startled  meeting  heard 
As  if  a  stone  its  quiet  waters  stirred  ; 

"And,  as  the  clerk  ceased  reading,  there  began 
A  ripple  of  dissent  which  downward  ran 
In  widening  circles,  as  from  man  to  man. 

"  Somewhat  was  said  of  running  before  sent, 
Of  tender  fear  that  some  their  guide  outwent, 
Troublers  of  Israel.     I  was  scarce  intent 

"  On  hearing,  for  behind  the  reverend  row 
Of  gallery  Friends,  in  dumb  and  piteous  show, 
I  saw,  methought,  dark  faces  full  of  woe. 

"And,  in  the  spirit,  I  was  taken  where 
They  toiled  and  suffered  ;  I  was  made  aware 
Of  shame  and  wrath  and  anguish  and  despair ! 


THE   PENNSYLVANIA    PILGRIM.  2$ 

"  And  while  the  meeting  smothered  our  poor  plea 
With  cautious  phrase,  a  Voice  there  seemed  to  be, 
'As  ye  have  done  to  these  ye  do  to  me  !' 

"  So  it  all  passed  ;  and  the  old  tithe  went  on 
Of  anise,  mint,  and  cumin,  till  the  sun 
Set,  leaving  still  the  weightier  work  undone. 

("  Help,  for  the  good  man  faileth  !    Who  is  strong, 
If  these  be  weak  ?    Who  shall  rebuke  the  wrong, 
If  these  consent?    How  long,  O  Lord!  how  long!" 

He  ceased  ;  and,  bound  in  spirit  with  the  bound, 
With  folded  arms,  and  eyes  that  sought  the  ground, 
Walked  musingly  his  little  garden  round. 

About  him,  beaded  with  the  falling  dew, 

Rare  plants  of  power  and  herbs  of  healing  grew, 

Such  as  Van  Helmont  and  Agrippa  knew. 


26  THE    PENNSYLVANIA    PILGRIM. 

For,  by  the  lore  of  Gorlitz'  gentle  sage, 
With  the  mild  mystics  of  his  dreamy  age 
He  read  the  herbal  signs  of  nature's  page, 

As  once  he  heard  in  sweet  Von  Merlau's  l    bowers 
Fair  as  herself,  in  boyhood's  happy  hours, 
The  pious  Spener  read  his  creed  in  flowers. 

"  The  dear  Lord  give  us  patience  ! "  said  his  wife, 

Touching  with  finger-tip  an  aloe,  rife 

With  leaves  sharp-pointed  like  an  Aztec  knife 

Or  Carib  spear,  a  gift  to  William  Penn 
From  the  rare  gardens  of  John  Evelyn, 
Brought  from  the  Spanish  Main  by  merchantmen. 

"See  this  strange  plant  its  steady  purpose  hold, 
And,  year  by  year,  its  patient  leaves  unfold, 
Till  the  young  eyes  that  watched  it  first  are  old. 


THE    PENNSYLVANIA    PILGRIM.  2/ 

"  But  some  time,  thou  hast  told  me,  there  shall  come 
A  sudden  beauty,  brightness,  and  perfume, 
•  The  century-moulded  bud  shall  burst  in  bloom. 

"  So  may  the  seed  which  hath  been  sown  to-day 
Grow  with  the  years,  and,  after  long  delay, 
Break  into  bloom,  and  God's  eternal  Yea 

"  Answer  at  last  the  patient  prayers  of  them 
Who  now,  by  faith  alone,  behold  its  stem 
Crowned  with  the  flowers  of  Freedom's  diadem. 

"  Meanwhile,  to  feel  and  suffer,  work  and  wait, 
Remains  for  us.     The  wrong  indeed  is  great, 
But  love  and  patience  conquer  soon  or  late." 

"Well  hast  thou  said,  my  Anna!"    Tenderer 
Than  youth's  caress  upon  the  head  of  her 
Pastorius  laid  his  hand.     "  Shall  we  demur 


28  THE   PENNSYLVANIA   PILGRIM. 

"  Because  the  vision  tarrieth  ?     In  an  hour 

We  dream  not  of  the  slow-grown  bud  may  flower, 

And  what  was  sown  in  weakness  rise  in  power ! " 

Then  through  the  vine-draped  door  whose  legend  read, 
"  PROCUL  ESTE  PROPHANI  ! "  Anna  led 
To  where  their  child  upon  his  little  bed 

Looked  up  and  smiled.    "Dear  heart,"  she  said,  "if  we 

Must  bearers  of  a  heavy  burden  be, 

Our  boy,  God  willing,  yet  the  day  shall  see 

"  When,  from  the  gallery  to  the  farthest  seat, 
Slave  and  slave-owner  shall  no  longer  meet, 
But  all  sit  equal  at  the  Master's  feet." 

On  the  stone  hearth  the  blazing  walnut  block 
Set  the  low  walls  a-glimmer,  showed  the  cock 
Rebuking  Peter  on  the  Van  Wyck  clock, 


THE   PENNSYLVANIA   PILGRIM.  29 

Shone  on  old  tomes  of  law  and  physic,  side 
By  side  with  Fox  and  Behmen,  played  at  hide 
And  seek  with  Anna,  midst  her  household  pride 

Of  flaxen  webs,  and  on  the  table,  bare 
Of  costly  cloth  or  silver  cup,  but  where, 
Tasting  the  fat  shads  of  the  Delaware, 

The  courtly  Penn  had  praised  the  goodwife's  cheer, 
And  quoted  Horace  o'er  her  home-brewed  beer, 
Till  even  grave  Pastorius  smiled  to  hear. 

In  such  a  home,  beside  the  Schuylkill's  wave, 
He  dwelt  in  peace  with  God  and  man,  and  gave 
Food  to  the  poor  and  shelter  to  the  slave. 

For  all  too  soon  the  New  World's  scandal  shamed 
The  righteous  code  by  Penn  and  Sidney  framed, 
And  men  withheld  the  human  rights  they  claimed. 


3O  THE   PENNSYLVANIA    PILGRIM. 

And  slowly  wealth  and  station  sanction  lent, 
And  hardened  avarice,  on  its  gains  intent, 
Stifled  the  inward  whisper  of  dissent. 

Yet  all  the  while  the  burden  rested  sore 
On  tender  hearts.     At  last  Pastorius  bore 
Their  warning  message  to  the  Church's  door 

In  God's  name  ;  and  the  leaven  of  the  word 

Wrought  ever  after  in  the  souls  who  heard, 

And  a  dead  conscience  in  its  grave-clothes  stirred 

To  troubled  life,  and  urged  the  vain  excuse 
Of  Hebrew  custom,  patriarchal  use, 
Good  in  itself  if  evil  in  abuse. 

Gravely  Pastorius  listened,  not  the  less 
Discerning  through  the  decent  fig-leaf  dress 
Of  the  poor  plea  its  shame  of  selfishness. 


THE    PENNSYLVANIA    PILGRIM.  31 

One  Scripture  rule,  at  least,  was  un forgot ; 
He  hid  the  outcast,  and  bewrayed  him  not ; 
And,  when  his  prey  the  human  hunter  sought, 

He  scrupled  not,  while  Anna's  wise  delay 

And  proffered  cheer  prolonged  the  master's  stay, 

To  speed  the  black  guest  safely  on  his  way. 

Yet,  who  shall  guess  his  bitter  grief  who  lends 
His  life  to  some  great  cause,  and  finds  his  friends 
Shame  or  betray  it  for  their  private  ends  ? 

How  felt  the  Master  when  his  chosen  strove 
In  childish  folly  for  their  seats  above  ; 
And  that  fond  mother,  blinded  by  her  love, 

Besought  him  that  her  sons,  beside  his  throne, 
Might  sit  on  either  hand  ?     Amidst  his  own 
A  stranger  oft,  companionless  and  lone, 


32  THE    PENNSYLVANIA   PILGRIM. 

God's  priest  and  prophet  stands.     The  martyr's  pain 
Is  not  alone  from  scourge  and  cell  and  chain ; 
Sharper  the  pang  when,  shouting  in  his  train, 

His  weak  disciples  by  their  lives  deny 
The  loud  hosannas  of  their  daily  cry, 
And  make  their  echo  of  his  truth  a  lie. 

His  forest  home  no  hermit's  cell  he  found, 
Guests,  motley-minded,  drew  his  hearth  around, 
And  held  armed  truce  upon  its  neutral  ground. 

There  Indian  chiefs  with  battle-bows  unstrung, 
Strong,  hero-limbed,  like  those  whom  Homer  sung, 
Pastorius  fancied,  when  the  world  was  young, 

Came  with  their  tawny  women,  lithe  and  tall, 
Like  bronzes  in  his  friend  Von  Rodeck's  hall, 
Comely,  if  black,  and  not  unpleasing  all. 


THE   PENNSYLVANIA    PILGRIM.  33 

There  hungry  folk  in  homespun  drab  and  gray 
Drew  round  his  board  on  Monthly  Meeting  day, 
Genial,  half  merry  in  their  friendly  way. 

Or,  haply,  pilgrims  from  the  Fatherland, 

Weak,  timid,  homesick,  slow  to  understand 

The  New  World's  promise,  sought  his  helping  hand. 

Or  painful  Kelpius 2  from  his  hermit  den 
By  Wissahickon,  maddest  of  good  men, 
Dreamed  o'er  the  Chiliast  dreams  of  Petersen. 

Deep  in  the  woods,  where  the  small  river  slid 
Snake-like  in  shade,  the  Helmstadt  Mystic  hid, 
Weird  as  a  wizard  over  arts  forbid, 

Reading  the  books  of  Daniel  and  of  John, 

And  Behmen's  Morning-Redness,  through  the  Stone 

Of  Wisdom,  vouchsafed  to  his  eyes  alone, 
3 


34  THE   PENNSYLVANIA   PILGRIM. 

Whereby  he  read  what  man  ne'er  read  before, 
And  saw  the  visions  man  shall  see  no  more, 
Till  the  great  angel,  striding  sea  and  shore, 

Shall  bid  all  flesh  await,  on  land  cr  ships, 
The  warning  trump  of  the  Apocalypse, 
Shattering  the  heavens  before  the  dread  eclipse. 

Or  meek-eyed  Mennonist  his  bearded  chin 
Leaned  o'er  the  gate  ;  or  Ranter,  pure  within, 
Aired  his  perfection  in  a  world  of  sin. 

V* 

Or,  talking  of  old  home  scenes,  Op  den  Graaf 
Teased  the  low  back-log  with  his  shodden  staff, 
Till  the  red  embers  broke  into  a  laugh 

And  dance  of  flame,  as  if  they  fain  would  cheer 
The  rugged  face,  half  tender,  half  austere, 
Touched  with  the  pathos  of  a  homesick  tear ! 


THE    PENNSYLVANIA    PILGRIM.  35 

Or  Sluyter,3  saintly  familist,  whose  word 
As  law  the  Brethren  of  the  Manor  heard, 
Announced  the  speedy  terrors  of  the  Lord, 

And  turned,  like  Lot  at  Sodom,  from  his  race, 
Above  a  wrecked  world  with  complacent  face 
Riding  secure  upon  his  plank  of  grace  ! 

Haply,  from  Finland's  birchen  groves  exiled, 
Manly  in  thought,  in  simple  ways  a  child, 
His  white  hair  floating  round  his  visage  mild, 

The  Swedish  pastor  sought  the  Quaker's  door, 
Pleased  from  his  neighbor's  lips  to  hear  once  more 
His  long-disused  and  half-forgotten  lore. , 

For  both  could  baffle  Babel's  lingual  curse, 
And  speak  in  Bion's  Doric,  and  rehearse 
Cleanthes'  hymn  or  Virgil's  sounding  verse. 


36  THE    PENNSYLVANIA   PILGRIM. 

And  oft  Pastorius  and  the  meek  old  man 
Argued  as  Quaker  and  as  Lutheran, 
Ending  in  Christian  love,  as  they  began. 

With  lettered  Lloyd  on  pleasant  morns  he  strayed 
Where  Sommerhausen  over  vales  of  shade 
Looked  miles  away,  by  every  flower  delayed, 

Or  song  of  bird,  happy  and  free  with  one 
Who  loved,  like  him,  to  let  his  memory  run 
Over  old  fields  of  learning,  and  to  sun 

Himself  in  Plato's  wise  philosophies, 
And  dream  with  Philo  over  mysteries 
Whereof  the  dreamer  never  finds  the  keys  ; 

To  touch  all  themes  of  thought,  nor  weakly  stop 
For  doubt  of  truth,  but  let  the  buckets  drop 
Deep  down  and  bring  the  hidden  waters  up.4 


THE    PENNSYLVANIA    PILGRIM.  37 

For  there  was  freedom  in  that  wakening  time 
Of  tender  souls  ;  to  differ  was  not  crime  ; 
The  varying  bells  made  up  the  perfect  chime. 

On  lips  unlike  was  laid  the  altar's  coal, 
The  white,  clear  light,  tradition-colored,  stole 
Through  the  stained  oriel  of  each  human  soul. 

Gathered  from  many  sects,  the  Quaker  brought 

His  old  beliefs,  adjusting  to  the  thought 

» 
That  moved  his  soul  the  creed  his  fathers  taught. 

One  faith  alone,  so  broad  that  all  mankind 
Within  themselves  its  secret  witness  find, 
The  soul's  communion  with  the  Eternal  Mind, 

The  Spirit's  law,  the  Inward  Rule  and  Guide, 
Scholar  and  peasant,  lord  and  serf,  allied, 
The  polished  Penn  and  Cromwell's  Ironside. 


38  THE    PENNSYLVANIA   PILGRIM. 

As  still  in  Hemskerck's  Quaker  Meeting^  face 

By  face  in  Flemish  detail,  we  may  trace 

How  loose-mouthed  boor  and  fine  ancestral  grace 

Sat  in  close  contrast,  —  the  clipt-headed  churl, 
Broad  market-dame,  and  simple  serving-girl 
By  skirt  of  silk  and  periwig  in  curl ! 

For  soul  touched  soul ;  the  spiritual  treasure-trove 
Made  all  men  equal,  none  could  rise  above 
Nor  sink  below  that  level  of  God's  love. 

So,  with  his  rustic  neighbors  sitting  down, 
The  homespun  frock  beside  the  scholar's  gown, 
Pastorius  to  the  manners  of  the  town 

Added  the  freedom  of  the  woods,  and  sought 

The  bookless  wisdom  by  experience  taught, 

And  learned  to  love  his  new-found  home,  while  not 


THE    PENNSYLVANIA    PILGRIM.  39 

Forgetful  of  the  old  ;  the  seasons  went 
Their  rounds,  and  somewhat  to  his  spirit  lent 
Of  their  own  calm  and  measureless  content. 

Glad  even  to  .tears,  he  heard  the  robin  sing 
His  song  of  welcome  to  the  Western  spring, 
And  bluebird  borrowing  from  the  sky  his  wing. 

And  when  the  miracle  of  autumn  came, 
And  all  the  woods  with  many-colored  flame 
Of  splendor,  making  summer's  greenness  tame, 

Burned,  unconsumed,  a  voice  without  a  sound 
Spake  to  him  from  each  kindled  bush  around, 
And  made  the  strange,  new  landscape  holy  ground ! 

And  when  the  bitter  north-wind,  keen  and  swift, 
Swept  the  white  street  and  piled  the  dooryard  drift, 
He  exercised,  as  Friends  might  say,  his  gift 


4O  THE   PENNSYLVANIA   PILGRIM. 

Of  verse,  Dutch,  English,  Latin,  like  the  hash 

Of  corn  and  beans  in  Indian  succotash ; 

Dull,  doubtless,  but  with  here  and  there  a  flash, 

Of  wit  and  fine  conceit,  —  the  good  man's  play 
Of  quiet  fancies,  meet  to  while  away 
The  slow  hours  measuring  off  an  idle  day. 

At  evening,  while  his  wife  put  on  her  look 
Of  love's  endurance,  from  its  niche  he  took 
The  written  pages  of  his  ponderous  book, 

And  read,  in  half  the  languages  of  man, 
His  '  Rusca  Apium,'  which  with  bees  began, 
And  through  the  gamut  of  creation  ran. 

Or,  now  and  then,  the  missive  of  some  friend 
In  gray  Altorf  or  storied  Niirnberg  penned 
Dropped  in  upon  him  like  a  guest  to  spend 


THE   PENNSYLVANIA    PILGRIM.  4! 

The  night  beneath  his  roof-tree.  Mystical 
The  fair  Von  Merlau  spake  as  waters  fall 
And  voices  sound  in  dreams,  and  yet  withal 

Human,  and  sweet,  as  if  each  far,  low  tone, 

Over  the  roses  of  her  gardens  blown, 

Brought  the  warm  sense  of  beauty  all  her  own. 

Wise  Spener  questioned  what  his  friend  could  trace 
Of  spiritual  influx  or  of  saving  grace 
In  the  wild  natures  of  the  Indian  race. 

And  learned  Schurmberg,  fain,  at  times,  to  look 
From  Talmud,  Koran,  Veds,  and  Pentateuch, 
Sought  out  his  pupil  in  his  far-off  nook, 

To  query  with  him  of  climatic  change, 

Of  bird,  beast,  reptile,  in  his  forest  range, 

Of  flowers  and  fruits  and  simples  new  and  strange. 


42  THE    PENNSYLVANIA    PILGRIM. 

And  thus  the  Old  and  New  World  reached  their  hands 

Across  the  water,  and  the  friendly  lands 

Talked  with  each  other  from  their  severed  strands. 

Pastorius  answered  all :  while  seed  and  root 
Sent  from  his  new  home  grew  to  flower  and  fruit 
Along  the  Rhine  and  at  the  Spessart's  foot ; 

And,  in  return,  the  flowers  his  boyhood  knew 
Smiled  at  his  door,  the  same  in  form  and  hue, 
And  on  his  vines  the  Rhenish  clusters  grew. 

No  idler  he  ;  whoever  else  might  shirk, 
He  set  his  hand  to  every  honest  work,  — 
Farmer  and  teacher,  court  and  meeting  clerk. 

Still  on  the  town  seal  his  device  is  found, 
Grapes,  flax,  and  thread-spool  on  a  trefoil  ground, 
With  "  VINUM,  LINUM  ET  TEXTRiNUM  "  wound. 


THE    PENNSYLVANIA    PILGRIM.  43 

One  house  sufficed  for  gospel  and  for  law, 
Where  Paul  and  Grotius,  Scripture  text  and  saw, 
Assured  the  good,  and  held  the  rest  in  awe. 

Whatever  legal  maze  he  wandered  through, 
He  kept  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  in  view, 
And  justice  always  into  mercy  grew. 

No  whipping-post  he  needed,  stocks,  nor  jail, 
Nor  ducking-stool  ;  the  orchard-thief  grew  pale 
At  his  rebuke,  the  vixen  ceased  to  rail, 

The  usurer's  grasp  released  the  forfeit  land  ; 
The  slanderer  faltered  at  the  witness-stand, 
And  all  men  took  his  counsel  for  command. 

Was  it  caressing  air,  the  brooding  love 

Of  tenderer  skies  than  German  land  knew  of, 

Green  calm  below,  blue  quietness  above, 


44  THE   PENNSYLVANIA   PILGRIM. 

Still  flow  of  water,  deep  repose  of  wood 
That,  with  a  sense  of  loving  Fatherhood 
And  childlike  trust  in  the  Eternal  Good, 

Softened  all  hearts,  and  dulled  the  edge  of  hate, 
Hushed  strife,  and  taught  impatient  zeal  to  wait 
The  slow  assurance  of  the  better  state  ? 

Who  knows  what  goadings  in  their  sterner  way 
O'er  jagged  ice,  relieved  by  granite  gray, 
Blew  round  the  men  of  Massachusetts  Bay  ? 

What  hate  of  heresy  the  east-wind  woke  ? 
What  hints  of  pitiless  power  and  terror  spoke 
In  waves  that  on  their  iron  coast-line  broke  ? 

Be  it  as  it  may  :  within  the  Land  of  Penn 

The  sectary  yielded  to  the  citizen, 

And  peaceful  dwelt  the  many-creeded  men. 


THE    PENNSYLVANIA    PILGRIM.  45 

Peace  brooded  over  all.     No  trumpet  stung 
The  air  to  madness,  and  no  steeple  flung 
Alarums  down  from  bells  at  midnight  rung. 

The  land  slept  well.     The  Indian  from  his  face 
Washed  all  his  war-paint  off,  and  in  the  place 
Of  battle-marches  sped  the  peaceful  chase, 

Or  wrought  for  wages  at  the  white  man's  side, — 
Giving  to  kindness  what  his  native  pride 
And  lazy  freedom  to  all  else  denied. 

And  well  the  curious  scholar  loved  the  old 

Traditions  that  his  swarthy  neighbors  told 

By  wigwam-fires  when  nights  were  growing  cold, 

Discerned  the  fact  round  which  their  fancy  drew 
Its  dreams,  and  held  their  childish  faith  more  true 
To  God  and  man  than  half  the  creeds  he  knew.6 


46  THE    PENNSYLVANIA    PILGRIM. 

The  desert  blossomed  round  him  ;  wheat-fields  rolled 
Beneath  the  warm  wind  waves  of  green  and  gold ; 
The  planted  ear  returned  its  hundred-fold. 

Great  clusters  ripened  in  a  warmer  sun 

Than  that  which  by  the  Rhine  stream  shines  upon 

The  purpling  hillsides  with  low  vines  o'errun. 

About  each  rustic  porch  the  humming-bird 

* 

Tried  with  light  bill,  that  scarce  a  petal  stirred, 
The  Old  World  flowers  to  virgin  soil  transferred ; 

And  the  first-fruits  of  pear  and  apple,  bending 
The  young  boughs  down,  their  gold  and  russet  blending, 
Made  glad  his  heart,  familiar  odors  lending 

To  the  fresh  fragrance  of  the  birch  and  pine, 

Life-everlasting,  bay,  and  eglantine, 

And  all  the  subtle  scents  the  woods  combine. 


THE    PENNSYLVANIA    PILGRIM.  47 

Fair  First-Day  mornings,  steeped   in  summer  calm 
Warm,  tender,  restful,  sweet  with  woodland  balm, 
Came  to  him,  like  some  mother-hallowed  psalm 

To  the  tired  grinder  at  the  noisy  wheel 
Of  labor,  winding  off  from  memory's  reel 
A  golden  thread  of  music.     With  no  peal 

Of  bells  to  call  them  to  the  house  of  praise, 
The  scattered  settlers  through  green  forest-ways 
Walked  meeting-ward.     In  reverent  amaze 

The  Indian  trapper  saw  them,  from  the  dim 

Shade  of  the  alders  on  the  rivulet's  rim, 

Seek  the  Great  Spirit's  house  to  talk  with  Him. 

There,  through  the  gathered  stillness  multiplied 
And  made  intense  by  sympathy,  outside 
The  sparrows  sang,  and  the  gold-robin  cried, 


48  THE   PENNSYLVANIA   PILGRIM. 

A-swing  upon  his  elm.     A  faint  perfume 
Breathed  through  the  open  windows  of  the  room 
From  locust-trees,  heavy  with  clustered  bloom. 

Thither,  perchance,  sore-tried  confessors  came, 

Whose  fervor  jail  nor  pillory  could  tame, 

Proud  of  the  cropped  ears  meant  to  be  their  shame, 

Men  who  had  eaten  slavery's  bitter  bread 
In  Indian  isles  ;  pale  women  who  had  bled 
Under  the  hangman's  lash,  and  bravely  said 

God's  message  through  their  prison's  iron  bars ; 
And  gray  old  soldier-converts,  seamed  with  scars 
From  every  stricken  field  of  England's  wars. 

Lowly  before  the  Unseen  Presence  knelt 
Each  waiting  heart,  till  haply  some  one  felt 
On  his  moved  lips  the  seal  of  silence  melt. 


THE    PENNSYLVANIA   PILGRIM.  49 

Or,  without  spoken  words,  low  breathings  stole 
Of  a  diviner  life  from  soul  to  soul, 
Baptizing  in  one  tender  thought  the  whole. 

When  shaken  hands  announced  the  meeting  o'er, 
The  friendly  group  still  lingered  at  the  door, 
Greeting,  inquiring,  sharing  all  the  store 

Of  weekly  tidings.     Meanwhile  youth  and  maid 
Down  the  green  vistas  of  the  woodland  strayed, 
Whispered  and  smiled  and  oft  their  feet  delayed. 

Did  the  boy's  whistle  answer  back  the  thrushes  ? 
Did  light  girl  laughter  ripple  through  the  bushes, 
As  brooks  make  merry  over  roots  and  rushes  ? 

Unvexed  the  sweet  air  seemed.     Without  a  wound 
The  ear  of  silence  heard,  and  every  sound 
Its  place  in  nature's  fine  accordance  found. 


5O  THE   PENNSYLVANIA   PILGRIM. 

And  solemn  meeting,  summer  sky  and  wood, 
Old  kindly  faces,  youth  and  maidenhood 
Seemed,  like  God's  new  creation,  very  good ! 

And,  greeting  all  with  quiet  smile  and  word, 
Pastorius  went  his  way.     The  unscared  bird 
Sang  at  his  side;  scarcely  the  squirrel  stirred 

At  his  hushed  footstep  on  the  mossy  sod ; 
And,  wheresoe'er  the  good  man  looked  or  trod, 
He  felt  the  peace  of  nature  and  of  God. 

His  social  life  wore  no  ascetic  form, 

He  loved  all  beauty,  without  fear  of  harm, 

And  in  his  veins  his  Teuton  blood  ran  warm. 

Strict  to  himself,  of  other  men  no  spy, 
He  made  his  own  no  circuit-judge  to  try 
The  freer  conscience  of  his  neighbors  by. 


THE    PENNSYLVANIA    PILGRIM.  51 

With  love  rebuking,  by  his  life  alone, 
Gracious  and  sweet,  the  better  way  was  shown, 
The  joy  of  one,  who,  seeking  not  his  own, 

And  faithful  to  all  scruples,  finds  at  last 
The  thorns  and  shards  of  duty  overpast, 
And  daily  life,  beyond  his  hope's  forecast, 

Pleasant  and  beautiful  with  sight  and  sound, 
And  flowers  upspringing  in  its  narrow  round, 
And  all  his  days  with  quiet  gladness  crowned. 

He  sang  not ;  but,  if  sometimes  tempted  strong, 
He  hummed  what  seemed  like  Altorf  s  Burschen-song, 
His  good  wife  smiled,  and  did  not  count  it  wrong. 

For  well  he  loved  his  boyhood's  brother  band ; 
His  Memory,  while  he  trod  the  New  World's  strand, 
A  double-ganger  walked  the  Fatherland! 


52  THE   PENNSYLVANIA   PILGRIM. 

If,  when  on  frosty  Christmas  eves  the  light 
Shone  on  his  quiet  hearth,  he  missed  the  sight 
Of  Yule-log,  Tree,  and  Christ-child  all  in  white ; 

And  closed  his  eyes,  and  listened  to  the  sweet 
Old  wait-songs  sounding  down  his  native  street, 
And  watched  again  the  dancers'  mingling  feet; 

Yet  not  the  less,  when  once  the  vision  passed, 

He  held  the  plain  and  sober  maxims  fast 

Of  the  dear  Friends  with  whom  his  lot  was  cast. 

Still  all  attuned  to  nature's  melodies, 

He  loved  the  bird's  song  in  his  dooryard  trees, 

And  the  low  hum  of  home-returning  bees  ; 

The  blossomed  flax,  the  tulip-trees  in  bloom 
Down  the  long  street,  the  beauty  and  perfume 
Of  apple-boughs,  the  mingling  light  and  gloom 


THE   PENNSYLVANIA   PILGRIM.  53 

Of  Sommerhausen's  woodlands,  woven  through 
With  sun-threads  ;  and  the  music  the  wind  drew, 
Mournful  and  sweet,  from  leaves  it  over-blew. 

And  evermore,  beneath  this  outward  sense, 
And  through  the  common  sequence  of  events, 
He  felt  the  guiding  hand  of  Providence 

Reach  out  of  space.     A  Voice  spake  in  his  ear, 

And  lo  !  all  other  voices  far  and  near 

Died  at  that  whisper,  full  of  meanings  clear. 

The  Light  of  Life  shone  round  him  ;   one  by  one 
The  wandering  lights,  that  all-misleading  run, 
Went  out  like  candles  paling  in  the  sun. 

That  Light  he  followed,  step  by  step,  where'er 

It  led,  as  in  the  vision  of  the  seer 

The  wheels  moved  as  the  spirit  in  the  clear 


54  THE   PENNSYLVANIA   PILGRIM. 

And  terrible  crystal  moved,  with  all  their  eyes 
Watching  the  living  splendor  sink  or  rise, 
Its  will  their  will,  knowing  no  otherwise. 

Within  himself  he  found  the  law  of  right, 
He  walked  by  faith  and  not  the  letter's  sight, 
And  read  his  Bible  by  the  Inward  Light. 

And  if  sometimes  the  slaves  of  form  and  rule, 
Frozen  in  their  creeds  like  fish  in  winter's  pool, 
Tried  the  large  tolerance  of  his  liberal  school, 

His  door  was  free  to  men  of  every  name, 
He  welcomed  all  the  seeking  souls  who  came, 
And  no  man's  faith  he  made  a  cause  of  blame. 

But  best  he  loved  in  leisure  hours  to  see 

His  own  dear  Friends  sit  by  him  knee  to  knee, 

In  social  converse,  genial,  frank,  and  free. 


THE   PENNSYLVANIA   PILGRIM.  55 

There  sometimes  silence  (it  were  hard  to  tell 
Who  owned  it  first)  upon  the  circle  fell, 
Hushed  Anna's  busy  wheel,  and  laid  its  spell 

On  the  black  boy  who  grimaced  by  the  hearth, 
To  solemnize  his  shining  face  of  mirth  ; 
Only  the  old  clock  ticked  amidst  the  dearth 

Of  sound  ;  nor  eye  was  raised  nor  hand  was  stirred 
In  that  soul-sabbath,  till  at  last  some  word 
Of  tender  counsel  or  low  prayer  was  heard. 

Then  guests,  who  lingered  but  farewell  to  say 
And  take  love's  message,  went  their  homeward  way  ; 
So  passed  in  peace  the  guileless  Quaker's  day. 

His  was  the  Christian's  unsung  Age  of  Gold, 
A  truer  idyl  than  the  bards  have  told 
Of  Arno's  banks  or  Arcady  of  old. 


56  THE   PENNSYLVANIA   PILGRIM. 

Where  still  the  Friends  their  place  of  burial  keep, 

And  century-rooted  mosses  o'er  it  creep, 

The  Niirnberg  scholar  and  his  helpmeet  sleep. 

And  Anna's  aloe  ?     If  it  flowered  at  last 

In  Bartram's  garden,  did  John  Woolman  cast 

A  glance  upon  it  as  he  meekly  passed  ? 

And  did  a  secret  sympathy  possess 
That  tender  soul,  and  for  the  slave's  redress 
Lend   hope,   strength,   patience  ?     It  were   vain   to 
guess. 

Nay,  were  the  plant  itself  but  mythical, 

Set  in  the  fresco  of  tradition's  wall 

Like  Jotham's  bramble,  mattereth  not  at  all. 

Enough  to  know  that,  through  the  winter's  frost 
And  summer's  heat,  no  seed  of  truth  is  lost, 
And  every  duty  pays  at  last  its  cost. 


THE   PENNSYLVANIA   PILGRIM.  57 

For,  ere  Pastorius  left  the  sun  and  air, 
God  sent  the  answer  to  his  lifelong  prayer  ; 
The  child  was  born  beside  the  Delaware, 

Who,  in  the  power  a  holy  purpose  lends, 

Guided  his  people  unto  nobler  ends, 

And  left  them  worthier  of  the  name  of  Friends. 

And  lo  !  the  fulness  of  the  time  has  come, 

And  over  all  the  exile's  Western  home, 

From  sea  to  sea  the  flowers  of  freedom  bloom ! 

And  joy-bells  ring,  and  silver  trumpets  blow; 

But  not  for  thee,  Pastorius !     Even  so 

The  world  forgets,  but  the  wise  angels  know. 


NOTES, 


1  Eleonora  Johanna  Von  Merlau,  or,  as  Sewall  the  Quaker  Histo- 
rian gives  it,  Von  Merlane,  a  noble  young  lady  of  Frankfort,  seems  to 
have  held  among  the  Mystics  of  that  city  very  much  such  a  position 
as  Annia  Maria  Schurmaus  did  among  the  Labadists  of  Holland.    Wil- 
liam Penn  appears  to  have  shared  the  admiration  of  her  own  immedi- 
ate circle  for  this  accomplished  and  gifted  lady. 

2  Magister  Johann  Kelpius,  a  graduate  of  the  University  of  Helm- 
stadt,  came  to  Pennsylvania  in  1694,  with  a  company  of  German  Mystics. 
They  made  their  home  in  the  woods  on  the  Wissahickon,  a  little  west  of 
the  Quaker  settlement  of  Germantown.     Kelpius  was  a  believer  in  the 
near  approach  of  the  Millennium,  and  was  a  devout  student  of  the 
Book  of  Revelation,  and  the  Morgen-Rothe  of  Jacob  Behmen.     He 
called  his  settlement  "  The  Woman  in  the  Wilderness  "  (Das  Weib  In 
der  Wueste],     He  was  only  twenty-four  years  of  age  when  he  came  to 
America,  but  his  gravity,  learning,  and  devotion  placed  him  at  the  head 
of  the  settlement.     He  disliked  the  Quakers,  because  he  thought  they 
were  too  exclusive  in  the  matter  of  ministers.     He  was,  like  most  of 
the  Mystics,  opposed   to  the  severe  doctrinal  views  of  Calvin  and 
even  Luther,  declaring  "  that  he  could  as  little  agree  with  the  Damna- 
mus  of  the  Augsburg  Confession  as  with  the  Anathema  of  the  Council 
of  Trent." 

He  died  in  1704,  sitting  in  his  little  garden  surrounded  by  his  griev- 
ing disciples.  Previous  to  his  death  it  is  said  that  he  cast  his  famous 
"  Stone  of  Wisdom  "  into  the  river,  where  that  mystic  souvenir  of  the 
times  of  Van  Helmont,  Paracelsus,  and  Agrippa  has  lain  ever  since, 
undisturbed. 

3  Peter  Sluyter,  or  Schluter,  a  native  of  Wesel,  united  himself  with 
the  sect  of  Labadists,  who  believed  in  the  Divine  commission  of  John 
De   Labadie,  a  Roman  Catholic  priest  converted  to  Protestantism 
enthusiastic,  eloquent,  and  evidently  sincere  in  his  special  calling  and 


6O  NOTES. 

election  to  separate  the  .true  and  living  members  of  the  Church  of 
Christ  from  the  formalism  and  hypocrisy  of  the  ruling  sects.  George 
Keith  and  Robert  Barclay  visited  him  at  Amsterdam  and  afterward 
at  the  communities  of  Herford  and  Wieward ;  and,  according  to 
Gerard  Croes,  found  him  so  near  to  them  on  some  points,  that  they 
offered  to  take  him  into  the  Society  of  Friends.  This  offer,  if  it  was 
really  made,  which  is  certainly  doubtful,  was,  happily  for  the  Friends 
at  least,  declined.  Invited  to  Herford  in  Westphalia  by  Elizabeth, 
daughter  of  the  Elector  Palatine,  De  Labadie  and  his  followers  preached 
incessantly,  and  succeeded  in  arousing  a  wild  enthusiasm  among  the 
people,  who  neglected  their  business  and  gave  way  to  excitements 
and  strange  practices.  Men  and  women,  it  was  said,  at  the  Com- 
munion drank  and  danced  together,  and  private  marriages,  or  spiritual 
unions,  were  formed.  Labadie  died  in  1674  at  Altona,  in  Denmark, 
maintaining  his  testimonies  to  the  last.  "  Nothing  remains  for  me," 
he  said,  "  except  to  go  to  my  God.  Death  is  merely  ascending  from 
a  lower  and  narrower  chamber  to  one  higher  and  holier." 

In  1679  Peter  Sluyter  and  Jasper  Dankers  were  sent  to  America 
by  the  community  at  the  Castle  of  Wieward.  Their  journal,  translated 
from  the  Dutch  and  edited  by  Henry  C.  Murphy,  has  been  recently 
published  by  the  Long  Island  Historical  Society.  They  made  some 
converts,  and  among  them  was  the  eldest  son  of  Hermanns,  the  pro- 
prietor of  a  rich  tract  of  land  at  the  head  of  Chesapeake  Bay,  known  as 
Bohemia  Manor.  Sluyter  obtained  a  grant  of  this  tract,  and  established 
upon  it  a  community  numbering  at  one  time  a  hundred  souls.  Very 
contradictory  statements  are  on  record  regarding  his  headship  of  this 
spiritual  family,  the  discipline  of  which  seems  to  have  been  of  more 
than  monastic  severity.  Certain  it  is  that  he  bought  and  sold  slaves, 
and  manifested  more  interest  in  the  world's  goods  than  became  a 
believer  in  the  near  Millennium.  He  evinces  in  his  journal  an  over- 
weening spiritual  pride,  and  speaks  contemptuously  of  other  professors, 
especially  the  Quakers  whom  he  met  in  his  travels.  The  latter,  on 
the  contrary,  seem  to  have  looked  favorably  upon  the  Labadists,  and 
uniformly  speak  of  them  courteously  and  kindly.  His  journal  shows 
him  to  have  been  destitute  of  common  gratitude  and  Christian  charity. 
He  threw  himself  upon  the  generous  hospitality  of  the  Friends  wher- 
ever he  went,  and  repaid  their  kindness  by  the  coarsest  abuse  and 
misrepresentation. 


NOTES.  6 1 

4  Among  the  pioneer  Friends  were  many  men  of  learning  and 
broad  and  liberal  views.  Penn  was  conversant  with  every  department 
of  literature  and  philosophy.  Thomas  Lloyd  was  a  ripe  and  rare 
scholar.  The  great  Loganian  Library  of  Philadelphia  bears  witness 
to  the  varied  learning  and  classical  taste  of  its  donor,  James  Logan. 
Thomas  Story,  member  of  the  Council  of  State,  Master  of  the  Rolls, 
and  Commissioner  of  Claims  under  William  Penn,  and  an  able  minis- 
ter of  his  Society,  took  a  deep  interest  in  scientific  questions,  and  in 
a  letter  to  his  friend  Logan,  written  while  on  a  religious  visit  to  Great 
Britain,  seems  to  have  anticipated  the  conclusion  of  modern  geologists. 
"  I  spent,"  he  says,  "  some  months,  especially  at  Scarborough,  during 
the  season  attending  meetings,  at  whose  high  cliffs  and  the  variety 
of  strata  therein  and  their  several  positions  I  further  learned  and  was 
confirmed  in  some  things,  —  that  the  earth  is  of  much  older  date  as 
to  the  beginning  of  it  than  the  time  assigned  in  the  Holy  Scriptures  as 
commonly  understood,  which  is  suited  to  the  common  capacities  of 
mankind,  as  to  six  days  of  progressive  work,  by  which  I  understand 
certain  long  and  competent  periods  of  time,  and  not  natural  days."  It 
was  sometimes  made  a  matter  of  reproach  by  the  Anabaptists  and  other 
sects,  that  the  Quakers  read  profane  writings  and  philosophies,  and 
that  they  quoted  heathen  moralists  in  support  of  their  views.  Sluy- 
ter  and  Bankers,  in  their  journal  of  American  travels,  visiting  a  Quaker 
preacher's  house  at  Burlington,  on  the  Delaware,  found  "  a  volume  of 
Virgil  lying  on  the  window,  as  if  it  were  a  common  hand-book  ;  also 
Helmont's  book  on  Medicine  ( Orttis  Medicine,  id  est  Initia  Physica  in- 
audita  progressus  medecince  novus  in  morborum  ultionam  ad  vitam 
longani},  whom,  in  an  introduction  they  have  made  to  it,  they  make  to 
pass  for  one  of  their  own  sect,  although  in  his  lifetime  he  did  not 
know  anything  about  Quakers."  It  would  appear  from  this  that  the 
half- mystical,  half-scientific  writings  of  the  alchemist  and  philosopher 
of  Vilverde  had  not  escaped  the  notice  of  Friends,  and  that  they  had 
included  him  in  their  broad  eclecticism. 

s  "The  Quaker's  Meeting,"  a  painting  by  E.  Hemskerck  (sup- 
posed to  be  Egbert  Hemskerck  the  younger,  son  of  Egbert  Hemskerck 
the  old),  in  which  William  Penn  and  others  —  among  them  Charles  II., 
or  the  Duke  of  York  —  are  represented  along  with  the  rudest  and  most 
stolid  class  of  the  British  rural  population  at  that  period.  Hemskerck 
came  to  London  from  Holland  with  King  William  in  1689.  He 


62  NOTES. 

delighted  in  wild,  grotesque  subjects,  such  as  the  nocturnal  intercourse 
of  witches  and  the  temptation  of  St.  Anthony.  Whatever  was  strange 
and  uncommon  attracted  his  free  pencil.  Judging  from  the  portrait 
of  Penn,  he  must  have  drawn  his  faces,  figures,  and  costumes  from  life, 
although  there  may  be  something  of  caricature  in  the  convulsed 
attitudes  of  two  or  three  of  the  figures. 

6  In  one  of  his  letters  addressed  to  his  friends  in  Germany  he 
says  :  "These  wild  men,  who  never  in  their  life  heard  Christ's  teach- 
ings about  temperance  and  contentment,  herein  far  surpass  the  Chris- 
tians. They  live  far  more  contented  and  unconcerned  for  the  morrow. 
They  do  not  overreach  in  trade.  They  know  nothing  of  our  everlast- 
ing pomp  and  stylishness.  They  neither  curse  nor  swear,  are  temperate 
in  food  and  drink,  and  if  any  of  them  get  drunk,  the  mouth-Christians 
are  at  fault,  who,  for  the  sake  of  accursed  lucre,  sell  them  strong 
drink." 

Again  he  wrote  in  1698  to  his  father  that  he  finds  the  Indians 
reasonable  people,  willing  to  accept  good  teaching  and  manners, 
evincing  an  inward  piety  toward  God,  and  more  eager,  in  fact,  to  un- 
derstand things  divine  than  many  among  you  who  in  the  pulpit  teach 
Christ  in  word,  but  by  ungodly  life  deny  him. 

"  It  is  evident,"  says  Professor  Seideustecker,  "  Pastorius  holds  up 
the  Indian  as  Nature's  unspoiled  child  to  the  eyes  of  the  '  European 
Babel,'  somewhat  after  the  same  manner  in  which  Tacitus  used  the 
barbarian  Germani  to  shame  his  degenerate  countrymen." 

As  believers  in  the  universality  of  the  Saving  Light,  the  outlook  of 
early  Friends  upon  the  heathen  was  a  very  cheerful  and  hopeful  one. 
God  was  as  near  to  them  as  to  Jew  or  Anglo-Saxon  ;  as  accessible  at 
Timbuctoo  as  at  Rome  or  Geneva.  Not  the  letter  of  Scripture,  but 
the  spirit  which  dictated  it,  was  of  saving  efficacy.  Robert  Barclay  is 
nowhere  more  powerful  than  in  his  argument  for  the  salvation  of  the 
heathen,  who  live  according  to  their  light,  without  knowing  even  the 
name  of  Christ.  William  Penn  thought  Socrates  as  good  a  Christian 
as  Richard  Baxter.  Early  Fathers  of  the  Church,  as  Origen  and  Justin 
Martyr,  held  broader  views  on  this  point  than  modern  Evangelicals. 
Even  Augustine,  from  whom  Calvin  borrowed  his  theology,  admits 
that  he  has  no  controversy  with  the  admirable  philosophers,  Plato  and 
Plotinus.  "  Nor  do  I  think,"  he  says  in  De  Civ.  Det.t  lib.  xviii.,  cap. 
47,  "  that  the  Jews  dare  affirm  that  none  belonged  unto  God  but  the 
Israelites." 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


THE    PAGEANT. 

A  SOUND  as  if  from  bells  of  silver, 
Or  elfin  cymbals  smitten  clear, 
Through  the  frost-pictured  panes  I  hear. 


A  brightness  which  outshines  the  morning, 
A  splendor  brooking  no  delay, 

Beckons  and  tempts  my  feet  away. 
5 


66  THE   PAGEANT. 

I  leave  the  .trodden  village  highway 

For  virgin  snow-paths  glimmering  through 
A  jewelled  elm-tree  avenue  ; 

Where,  keen  against  the  walls  of  sapphire, 
The  gleaming  tree-bolls,  ice-embossed, 
Hold  up  their  chandeliers  of  frost. 

I  tread  in  Orient  halls  enchanted, 

I  dream  the  Saga's  dream  of  caves 
Gem-lit  beneath  the  North  Sea  waves  ! 

I  walk  the  land  of  Eldorado, 

I  touch  its  mimic  garden  bowers, 

Its  silver  leaves  and  diamond  flowers  ! 

The  flora  of  the  mystic  mine-world 
Around  me  lifts  on  crystal  stems 
The  petals  of  its  clustered  gems ! 


THE    PAGEANT.  69 

What  miracle  of  weird  transforming 

Is  this  wild  work  of  frost  and  light, 
This  glimpse  of  glory  infinite  ! 

This  foregleam  of  the  Holy  City 

Like  that  to  him  of  Patmos  given, 

The  white  bride  coming  down  from  heaven ! 

How  flash  the  ranked  and  mail-clad  alders, 

Through  what  sharp-glancing  spears  of  reeds 
The  brook  its  muffled  water  leads ! 

Yon  maple,  like  the  bush  of  Horeb, 

Burns  unconsumed  :  a  white,  cold  fire 
Rays  out  from  every  grassy  spire. 

Each  slender  rush  and  spike  of  mullein, 
Low  laurel  shrub  and  drooping  fern, 
Transfigured,  blaze  where'er  I  turn. 


7O  THE   PAGEANT. 

How  yonder/Ethiopian  hemlock 

Crowned  with  his  glistening  circlet  stands  ! 
What  jewels  light  his  swarthy  hands !    • 

Here,  where  the  forest  opens  southward, 
Between  its  hospitable  pines, 
As  through  a  door,  the  warm  sun  shines. 

The  jewels  loosen  on  the  branches, 

And  lightly,  as  the  soft  winds  blow, 
Fall,  tinkling,  on  the  ice  below. 

And  through  the  clashing  of  their  cymbals 
I  hear  the  old  familiar  fall 
Of  water  down  the  rocky  wall, 

Where,  from  its  wintry  prison  breaking, 
In  dark  and  silence  hidden  long, 
The  brook  repeats  its  summer  song. 


THE    PAGEANT.  71 


One  instant  flashing  in  the  sunshine, 
Keen  as  a  sabre  from  its  sheath, 


Then  lost  again  the  ice  beneath. 


I  hear  the  rabbit  lightly  leaping, 

The  foolish  screaming  of  the  jay, 
The  chopper's  axe-stroke  far  away  ; 

The  clamor  of  some  neighboring  barn-yard, 
The  lazy  cock's  belated  crow, 
Or  cattle-tramp  in  crispy  snow. 

And,  as  in  some  enchanted  forest 

The  lost  knight  hears  his  comrades  sing, 
And,  near  at  hand,  their  bridles  ring, 

So  welcome  I  these  sounds  and  voices, 
These  airs  from  far-off  summer  blown; 
This  life  that  leaves  me  not  alone. 


72  THE   PAGEANT. 

For  the  white  glory  overawes  me  ; 
The  -crystal  terror  of  the  seer 
Of  Chebar's  vision  blinds  me  here. 

Rebuke  me  not,  O  sapphire  heaven  ! 
Thou  stainless  earth,  lay  not  on  me 
Thy  keen  reproach  of  purity, 

If,  in  this  august  presence-chamber, 

I  sigh  for  summer's  leaf-green  gloom 
And  warm  airs  thick  with  odorous  bloom ! 

Let  the  strange  frost-work  sink  and  crumble, 
And  let  the  loosened  tree-boughs  swing, 
Till  all  their  bells  of  silver  ring. 

Shine  warmly  down,  thou  sun  of  noontime, 
On  this  chill  pageant,  melt  and  move 
The  winter's  frozen  heart  with  love. 


THE   PAGEANT. 

And,  soft  and  low,  thou  wind  south-blowing, 
Breathe  through  a  veil  of  tenderest  haze 
Thy  prophecy  of  summer  days. 

Come  with  thy  green  relief  of  promise, 
And  to  this  dead,  cold  splendor  bring 
The  living  jewels  of  the  spring ! 


73 


74  THE   SINGER. 


THE  SINGER. 

YEARS  since  (but  names  to  me  before), 
Two  sisters  sought  at  eve  my  door  ; 
Two  song-birds  wandering,  from  their  nest, 
A  gray  old  farm-house  in  the  West. 

How  fresh  of  life  the  younger  one, 
Half  smiles,  half  tears,  like  rain  in  sun  ! 
Her  gravest  mood  could  scarce  displace 
The  dimples  of  her  nut-brown  face. 

Wit  sparkled  on  her  lips  not  less 
For  quick  and  tremulous  tenderness  ; 
And,  following  close  her  merriest  glance, 
Dreamed  through  her  eyes  the  heart's  romance. 


THE   SINGER.  75 

Timid  and  still,  the  elder  had 
Even  then  a  smile  too  sweetly  sad  ; 
The  crown  of  pain  that  all  must  wear 
Too  early  pressed  her  midnight  hair. 

Yet  ere  the  summer  eve  grew  long, 
Her  modest  lips  were  sweet  with  song ; 
A  memory  haunted  all  her  words 
Of  clover-fields  and  singing  birds. 

Her  dark,  dilating  eyes  expressed 

The  broad  horizons  of  the  west ; 

Her  speech  dropped  prairie  flowers ;   the  gold 

Of  harvest  wheat  about  her  rolled. 

Fore-doomed  to  song  she  seemed  to  me : 

I  queried  not  with  destiny : 

I  knew  the  trial  and  the  need, 

Yet,  all  the  more,  I  said,  God  speed  ! 


76  THE    SINGER. 

What  could  I  other  than  I  did  ? 
Could  I  a  singing-bird  forbid  ? 
Deny  the  wind-stirred  leaf?     Rebuke 
The  music  of  the  forest  brook  ? 

She  went  with  morning  from  my  door, 
But  left  me  richer  than  before : 
Thenceforth  I  knew  her  voice  of  cheer, 
The  welcome  of  her  partial  ear. 

Years  passed  :   through  all  the  land  her  name 
A  pleasant  household  word  became: 
All  felt  behind  the  singer  stood 
A  sweet  and  gracious  womanhood. 

Her  life  was  earnest  work,  not  play  ; 
Her  tired  feet  climbed  a  weary  way  ; 
And  even  through  her  lightest  strain 
We  heard  an  undertone  of  pain. 


THE   SINGER.  77 

Unseen  of  her  her  fair  fame  grew, 
The  good  she  did  she  rarely  knew, 
Unguessed  of  her  in  life  the  love 
That  rained  its  tears  her  grave  above. 

When  last  I  saw  her,  full  of  peace, 
She  waited  for  her  great  release  ; 
And  that  old  friend  so  sage  and  bland, 
Our  later  Franklin,  held  her  hand. 

For  all  that  patriot  bosoms  stirs 
Had  moved  that  woman's  heart  of  hers, 
And  men  who  toiled  in  storm  and  sun 
Found  her  their  meet  companion. 

Our  converse,  from  her  suffering  bed 
To  healthful  themes  of  life  she  led  ; 
The  out-door  world  of  bud  and  bloom 


And  light  and  sweetness  filled  her  room. 


78  THE   SINGER* 

Yet  evermore  an  underthought 
Of  loss  to  come  within  us  wrought, 
And  all  the  while  we  felt  the  strain 
Of  the  strong  will  that  conquered  pain. 

God  giveth  quietness  at  last! 
The  common  way  that  all  have  passed 
She  went,  with  mortal  yearnings  fond, 
To  fuller  life  and  love  beyond. 

Fold  the  rapt  soul  in  your  embrace, 
My  dear  ones !   Give  the  singer  place ! 
To  you,  to  her,  —  I  know  not  where, — 
I  lift  the  silence  of  a  prayer. 

For  only  thus  our  own  we  find  ; 
The  gone  before,  the  left  behind, 
All  mortal  voices  die  between  ; 
The  unheard  reaches  the  unseen. 


THE   SINGER. 


79 


Again  the  blackbirds  sing;   the  streams 
Wake,  laughing,  from  their  winter  dreams, 
And  tremble  in  the  April  showers 
The  tassels  of  the  maple  flowers. 

But  not  for  her  has  spring  renewed 
The  sweet  surprises  of  the  wood ; 
And  bird  and  flower  are  lost  to  her 
Who  was  their  best  interpreter  ! 


8O  THE   SINGER. 

What  to  shut  eyes  has  God  revealed  ? 
What  hear  the  ears  that  death  has  sealed? 
What  undreamed  beauty  passing  show 
Requites  the  loss  of  all  we  know  ? 

O  silent  land,  to  which  we  move, 
Enough  if  there  alone  be  love, 
And  mortal  need  can  ne'er  outgrow 
What  it  is  waiting  to  bestow ! 

O  white  soul !   from  that  far-off  shore 
Float  some  sweet  song  the  waters  o'er, 
Our  faith  confirm,  our  fears  dispel, 
With  the  old  voice  we  loved  so  well  ! 


CHICAGO.  8 1 


CHICAGO. 

MEN  said  at  vespers :   "  All  is  well  ! " 

In  one  wild  night  the  city  fell ; 

Fell  shrines  of  prayer  and  marts  of  gain 

Before  the  fiery  hurricane. 

t 

On  threescore  spires  had  sunset  shone, 
Where  ghastly  sunrise  looked  on  none. 
Men  clasped  each  other's  hands,  and  said 
"  The  City  of  the  West  is  dead  !  " 

Brave  hearts  who  fought,  in  slow  retreat, 
The  fiends  of  fire  from  street  to  street, 
Turned,  powerless,  to  the  blinding  glare, 

The  dumb  defiance  of  despair. 
6 


82  CHICAGO. 

A  sudden  impulse  thrilled  each  wire 

That  signalled  round  that  sea  of  fire  ; 

Swift  words  of  cheer,  warm  heart-throbs  came  ; 

In  tears  of  pity  died  the  flame ! 

From  East,  from  West,  from  South  and  North, 
The  messages  of  hope  shot  forth, 
And,  underneath  the  severing  wave, 
The  world,  full-handed,  reached  to  save. 

Fair  seemed  the  old ;  but  fairer  still 
The  new,  the  dreary  void  shall  fill 
With  dearer  homes  than  those  overthrown, 
For  love  shall  lay  each  corner-stone. 

Rise,  stricken  city !  —  from  thee  throw 
The  ashen  sackcloth  of  thy  woe  ; 
And  build,  as  to  Amphion's  strain, 
To  songs  of  cheer  thy  walls  again  ! 


CHICAGO.  83 

How  shrivelled  in  thy  hot  distress 
The  primal  sin  of  selfishness  ! 
How  instant  rose,  to  take  thy  part, 
The  angel  in  the  human  heart ! 

Ah !  not  in  vain  the  flames  that  tossed 
Above  thy  dreadful  holocaust ; 
The  Christ  again  has  preached  through  thee 
The  Gospel  of  Humanity ! 

Then  lift  once  more  thy  towers  on  high, 
And  fret  with  spires  the  western  sky, 
To  tell  that  God  is  yet  with  us, 
And  love  is  still  miraculous! 


84  MY   BIRTHDAY. 


MY    BIRTHDAY. 

BENEATH  the  moonlight  and  the  snow 

Lies  dead  my  latest  year ; 
The  winter  winds  are  wailing  low 

Its  dirges  in  my  ear. 

I  grieve  not  with  the  moaning  wind 

As  if  a  loss  befell ; 
Before  me,  even  as  behind, 

God  is,  and  all  is  well! 

His  light  shines  on  me  from  above, 
His  low  voice  speaks  within,  — 

The  patience  of  immortal  love 
Outwearying  mortal  sin. 


MY   BIRTHDAY.  85 

Not  mindless  of  the  growing  years 

Of  care  and  loss  and  pain, 
My  eyes  are  wet  with  thankful  tears 

For  blessings  which  remain. 

If  dim  the  gold  of  life  has  grown, 

I  will  not  count  it  dross, 
Nor  turn  from  treasures  still  my  own 

To  sigh  for  lack  and  loss. 

The  years  no  charm  from  Nature  take  ; 

As  sweet  her  voices  call, 
As  beautiful  her  mornings  break, 

As  fair  her  evenings  fall. 

Love  watches  o'er  my  quiet  ways, 

Kind  voices  speak  my  name, 
And  lips  that  find  it  hard  to  praise 

Are  slow,  at  least,  to  blame. 


86  MY   BIRTHDAY. 

How  softly  ebb  the  tides  of  will ! 

How  fields,  once  lost  or  won, 
Now  lie  behind  me  green  and  still 

Beneath  a  level  sun  ! 

How  hushed  the  hiss  of  party  hate, 
The  clamor  of  the  throng ! 

How  old,  harsh  voices  of  debate 
Flow  into  rhythmic  song ! 

Methinks  the  spirit's  temper  grows 
Too  soft  in  this  still  air; 

Somewhat  the  restful  heart  foregoes 
Of  needed  watch  and  prayer. 

The  bark  by  tempest  vainly  tossed 
May  founder  in  the  calm, 

And  he  who  braved  the  polar  frost 
Faint  by  the  isles  of  balm. 


MY   BIRTHDAY.  8/ 

Better  than  self-indulgent  years 

The  outflung  heart  of  youth, 
Than  pleasant  songs  in  idle  years 

The  tumult  of  the  truth. 

Rest  for  the  weary  hands  is  good, 
And  love  for  hearts  that  pine, 

But  let  the  manly  habitude 
Of  upright  souls  be  mine. 

Let  winds  that  blow  from  heaven  refresh, 

Dear  Lord,  the  languid  air; 
And  let  the  weakness  of  the  flesh 

Thy  strength  of  spirit  share. 

And,  if  the  eye  must  fail  of  light, 

The  ear  forget  to  hear,    « 
Make  clearer  still  the  spirit's  sight, 

More  fine  the  inward  ear ! 


MY   BIRTHDAY. 

Be  near  me  in  mine  hours  of  need 
To  soothe,  or  cheer,  or  warn, 

And  down  these  slopes  of  sunset  lead 
As  up  the  hills  of  morn ! 


THE    BREWING    OF    SOMA.  89 


THE   BREWING   OF   SOMA. 

"  These  libations  mixed  with  milk  have  been  prepared  for  Indra : 
offer  Soma  to  the  drinker  of  Soma."  —  VASHISTA,  Trans,  by  MAX 

MtiLLER. 

THE  fagots  blazed,  the  caldron's  smoke 
Up  through  the  green  wood  curled; 
"  Bring  honey  from  the  hollow  oak, 
Bring  milky  sap,"  the  brewers  spoke, 
In  the  childhood  of  the  world. 

And  brewed  they  well  or  brewed  they  ill, 

The  priests  thrust  in  their  rods, 
First  tasted,  and  then  drank  their  fill, 
And  shouted,  with  one  voice  and  will, 
"  Behold  the  drink  of  gods  ! " 


9<D  THE   BREWING   OF   SOMA. 

They  drank,  and  lo  !   in  heart  and  brain 

A  new,  glad  life  began ; 
The  gray  of  hair  grew  young  again, 
The  sick  man  laughed  away  his  pain, 

The  cripple  leaped  and  ran. 

"Drink,  mortals,  what  the  gods  have  sent, 

Forget  your  long  annoy." 
So  sang  the  priests.     From  tent  to  tent 
The  Soma's  sacred  madness  went, 

A  storm  of  drunken  joy. 

* 

Then  knew  each  rapt  inebriate 
A  winged  and  glorious  birth, 
Soared  upward,  with  strange  joy  elate, 
Beat,  with  dazed  head,  •Varuna's  gate, 
And,  sobered,  sank  to  earth. 


THE    BREWING    OF    SOMA.  9 1 

The  land  with  Soma's  praises  rang ; 

On  Gihon's  banks  of  shade 
Its  hymns  the  dusky  maidens  sang; 
In  joy  of  life  or  mortal  pang 

All  men  to  Soma  prayed. 

The  morning  twilight  of  the  race 

Sends  down  these  matin  psalms ; 
And  still  with  wondering  eyes  we  trace 
The  simple  prayers  to  Soma's  grace, 
That  Vedic  verse  embalms. 


As  in  that  child- world's  early  year, 

Each  after  age  has  striven 
By  music,  incense,  vigils  drear, 
And  trance,  to  bring  the  skies  more  near, 

Or  lift  men  up  to  heaven  !  — 


Q2  THE   BREWING   OF   SOMA. 

Some  fever  of  the  blood  and  brain, 

Some  self-exalting  spell, 
The  scourger's  keen  delight  of  pain, 
The  Dervish  dance,  the  Orphic  strain, 

The  wild-haired  Bacchant's  yell, — 

The  desert's  hair-grown  hermit  sunk 

The  saner  brute  below; 
The  naked  Santon,  hashish-drunk, 
The  cloister  madness  of  the  monk, 

The  fakir's  torture-show! 

And  yet  the  past  comes  round  again, 

And  new  doth  old  fulfil ; 
In  sensual  transports  wild  as  vain 
We  brew  in  many  a  Christian  fane 

The  heathen  Soma  still  ! 


THE   BREWING   OF    SOMA.  93 

Dear  Lord  and  Father  of  mankind, 

Forgive  our  foolish  ways ! 
Reclothe  us  in  our  rightful  mind, 
In  purer  lives  thy  service  find, 

In  deeper  reverence,  praise. 

In  simple  trust  like  theirs  who  heard 

Beside  the  Syrian  sea 
The  gracious  calling  of  the  Lord, 
Let  us,  like  them,  without  a  word, 

Rise  up  and  follow  thee. 

O  Sabbath  rest  by  Galilee! 

O  calm  of  hills  above, 
Where  Jesus  knelt  to  share  with  thee 
The  silence  of  eternity 

Interpreted  by  love  ! 


94  THE   BREWING   OF   SOMA. 

With  that  deep  hush  subduing  all 
Our  words  and  works  that  drown 

The  tender  whisper  of  thy  call, 

As  noiseless  let  thy  blessing  fall 
As  fell  thy  manna  down. 

Drop  thy  still  dews  of  quietness, 

Till  all  our  strivings  cease  ; 
Take  from  our  souls  the  strain  and  stress, 
And  let  our  ordered  lives  confess 

The  beauty  of  thy  peace. 

Breathe  through  the  heats  of  our  desire 

Thy  coolness  and  thy  balm  ; 
Let  sense  be  dumb,  let  flesh  retire ; 
Speak  through  the  earthquake,  wind,  and  fire, 

O  still,  small  voice  of  calm  ! 


A  WOMAN.  95 


A  WOMAN. 

O,  DWARFED  and  wronged,  and  stained  with  ill, 

Behold  !  thou  art  a  woman  still ! 

And,  by  that  sacred  name  and  dear, 

I  bid  thy  better  self  appear. 

Still,  through  thy  foul  disguise,  I  see 

The  rudimental  purity, 

That,  spite  of  change  and  loss,  makes  good 

Thy  birthright-claim  of  womanhood  ; 

An  inward  loathing,  deep,  intense  ; 

A  shame  that  is  half  innocence. 

Cast  off  the  grave-clothes  of  thy  sin ! 

Rise  from  the  dust  thou  liest  in, 

As  Mary  rose  at  Jesus'  word, 

Redeemed  and  white  before  the  Lord  ! 


96  A   WOMAN. 

Reclaim  thy  lost  soul  !  In  His  name, 
Rise  up,  and  break  thy  bonds  of  shame, 
Art  weak  ?     He  's  strong.     Art  fearful  ?     Hear 
The  world's  O'ercomer :  "  Be  of  cheer  !  " 
What  lip  shall  judge  when  He  approves  ? 
Who  dare  to  scorn  the  child  he  loves  ? 


DISARMAMENT.  97 


DISARMAMENT. 

"  PUT  up  the  sword  !  "   The  voice  of  Christ  once  more 
Speaks,  in  the  pauses  of  the  cannon's  roar, 
O'er  fields  of  corn  by  fiery  sickles  reaped 
And  left  dry  ashes  ;  over  trenches  heaped 
With  nameless  dead  ;  o'er  cities  starving  slow 
Under  a  rain  of  fire  ;  through  wards'  of  woe 
Down  which  a  groaning  diapason  runs  • 
From  tortured   brothers,  husbands,  lovers,  sons 
Of  desolate  women  in  their  far-off  homes, 
Waiting  to  hear  the  step  that  never  comes ! 
O  men  and  brothers  !  let  that  voice  be  heard. 
War  fails,  try  peace  ;  put  up  the  useless  sword  ! 

Fear  not  the  end.     There  is  a  story  told 

In  Eastern  tents,  when  autumn  nights  grow  cold, 
7 


98  DISARMAMENT. 

And  round  the  fire  the  Mongol  shepherds  sit 

With  grave  responses  listening  unto  it  :     , 

Once,  on  the  errands  of  his  mercy  bent, 

Buddha,  the  holy  and  benevolent, 

Met  a  fell  monster,  huge  and  fierce  of  look, 

Whose  awful  voice  the  hills  and  forests  shook. 

"  O  son  of  peace ! "  the  giant  cried,  "  thy  fate 

Is  sealed  at  last,  and  love  shall  yield  to  hate." 

The  unarmed  Buddha  looking,  with  no  trace 

Of  fear  or  anger,  in  the  monster's  face, 

In  pity  said  :  "  Poor  fiend,  even  thee  I  love." 

Lo  !  as  he  spake  the  sky-tall  terror  sank 

To  hand-breadth  size  ;  the  huge  abhorrence  shrank 

Into  the  form  and  fashion  of  a  dove  ; 

And  where  the  thunder  of  its  rage  was  heard, 

Circling  above  him  sweetly  sang  the  bird  : 

"  Hate  hath  no  harm  for  love,"  so  ran  the  song  ; 

"  And  peace  unweaponed  conquers  every  wrong  ! " 


THE   ROBIN.  99 


THE    ROBIN. 

MY  old  Welch  neighbor  over  the  way 
Crept  slowly  out  in  the  sun  of  spring, 

Pushed  from  her  ears  the  locks  of  gray, 
And  listened  to  hear  the  robin  sing. 

Her  grandson,  playing  at  marbles,  stopped, 
And,  cruel  in  sport  as  boys  will  be, 

Tossed  a  stone  at  the  bird,  who  hopped 
From  bough  to  bough  in  the  apple-tree. 

"  Nay  !  "  said  the  grandmother ;  "have  you  not heard, 

My  poor,  bad  boy  !  of  the  fiery  pit, 
And  how,  drop  by  drop,  this  merciful  bird 

Carries  the  water  that  quenches  it  ? 


IOO  THE    ROBIN. 

"  He  brings  cool  dew  in  his  little  bill, 
And  lets  it  fall  on  the  souls  of  sin  : 

You  can  see  the  mark  on  his  red  breast  still 
Of  fires  that  scorch  as  he  drops  it  in. 

"  My  poor  Bron  rhuddyn  !  my  breast-burned  bird, 
Singing  so  sweetly  from  limb  to  limb, 

Very  dear  to  the  heart  of  Our  Lord 
Is  he  who  pities  the  lost  like  Him  ! " 

"  Amen ! "  I  said  to  the  beautiful  myth  ; 

"  Sing,  bird  of  God,  in  my  heart  as  well : 
Each  good  thought  is  a  drop  wherewith 

To  cool  and  lessen  the  fires  of  hell. 

"  Prayers  of  love  like  rain-drops  fall, 

Tears  of  pity  are  cooling  dew, 
And  dear  to  the  heart  of  Our  Lord  are  all 

Who  suffer  like  Him  in  the  good  they  do  ! " 


THE   SISTERS.  IO1 


THE    SISTERS. 

ANNIE  and  Rhoda,  sisters  twain, 

Woke  in  the  night  to  the  sound  of  rain, 

The  rush  of  wind,  the  ramp  and  roar 
Of  great  waves  climbing  a  rocky  shore. 

Annie  rose  up  in  her  bed-gown  white, 
And  looked  out  into  the  storm  and  night. 

"  Hush,  and  hearken  ! "  she  cried  in  fear, 
"  Hearest  thou  nothing,  sister  dear  ?  " 

"  I  hear  the  sea,  and  the  plash  of  rain, 
And  roar  of  the  northeast  hurricane. 


IO2         .  THE   SISTERS. 

"Get  thee  back  to  the  bed  so  warm, 
No  good  comes  of  watching  a  storm. 

"  What  is  it  to  thee,  I  fain  would  know, 
That  waves  are  roaring  and  wild  winds  blow? 

"  No  lover  of  thine 's  afloat  to  miss 
The  harbor-lights  on  a  night  like  this." 

"But  I  heard  a  voice  cry  out  my  name, 
Up  from  the  sea  on  the  wind  it  came ! 

"  Twice  and  thrice  have  I  heard  it  call, 

And  the  voice  is  the  voice  of  Estwick  Hall ! " 

On  her  pillow  the  sister  tossed  her  head. 
"  Hall  of  the  Heron  is  safe,"  she  said. 


THE   SISTERS.  1 03 

"In  the  tautest  schooner  that  ever  swam 
He  rides  at  anchor  in  Anisquam. 

"And,  if  in  peril  from  swamping  sea 

Or  lee  shore  rocks,  would  he  call  on  thee  ? " 

But  the  girl  heard  only  the  wind  and  tide, 
And  wringing  her  small  white  hands,  she  cried  : 

"O  sister  Rhoda,  there's  something  wrong; 
I  hear  it  again,  so  loud  and  long. 

"  <  Annie  !  Annie  ! '  I  hear  it  call, 

And  the  voice  is  the  voice  of  Estwick  Hall !  " 

Up  sprang  the  elder,  with  eyes  aflame, 

"  Thou  liest !     He  never  would  call  thy  name  ! 


104  THE   SISTERS. 

"If  he  did,  I  would  pray  the  wind  and  sea 
To  keep  him  forever  from  thee  and  me  ! " 

Then  out  of  the  sea  blew  a  dreadful  blast ; 
Like  the  cry  of  a  dying  man  it  passed. 

The  young  girl  hushed  on  her  lips  a  groan, 
But  through  her  tears  a  strange  light  shone, 

The  solemn  joy  of  her  heart's  release 
To  own  and  cherish  its  love  in  peace. 

"  Dearest !  "  she  whispered,  under  breath, 
"  Life  was  a  lie,  but  true  is  death. 

"  The  love  I  hid  from  myself  away 
Shall  crown  me  now  in  the  light  of  day. 


THE    SISTERS.  1 05 

"My  ears  shall  never  to  wooer  list, 
Never  by  lover  my  lips  be  kissed. 

"  Sacred  to  thee  am  I  henceforth, 
Thou  in  heaven  and  I  on  earth ! " 

She  came  and  stood  by  her  sister's  bed : 
"  Hall  of  the  Heron  is  dead ! "  she  said. 

"The  wind  and  the  waves  their  work  have  done, 
We  shall  see  him  no  more  beneath  the  sun. 

"  Little  will  reck  that  heart  of  thine, 
It  loved  him  not  with  a  love  like  mine. 

"  I,  for  his  sake,  were  he  but  here, 
Could  hem  and  'broider  thy  bridal  gear, 


106  THE   SISTERS. 

"  Though  hands  should  tremble  and  eyes  be  wet, 
And  stitch  for  stitch  in  my  heart  be  set. 

"  But  now  my  soul  with  his  soul  I  wed  ; 
Thine  the  living,  and  mine  the  dead  ! " 


MARGUERITE. 

MASSACHUSETTS   BAY,    1760. 

THE   robins   sang  in   the  orchard,    the    buds    into 

blossoms  grew  ; 
Little  of  human  sorrow  the  buds  and  the  robins  knew ! 

Sick,  in  an  alien  household,  the  poor  French  neutral 
lay; 

• 

Into  her  lonesome  garret  fell  the  light  of  the  April  day. 

Through  the  dusty  window,  curtained  by  the  spider's 

warp  and  woof, 
On  the  loose-laid  floor  of  hemlock,  on  oaken  ribs  of 

roof. 


IO8  MARGUERITE. 

The  bedquilt's  faded  patchwork,  the  teacups  on  the 

the  stand, 
The  wheel  with   flaxen   tangle,  as   it   dropped  from 

her  sick  hand ! 

What  to  her  was   the  song  of  the  robin,  or  warm 

morning  light, 
As  she  lay  in  the  trance  of  the  dying,  heedless  of 

sound  or  sight? 

Done  was  the  work  of  her  hands,   she  had  eaten 

her  bitter  bread  ; 
The  world  of  the  alien  people  lay  behind  her  dim 

and  dead. 

But  her  soul  went  back  to  its  child-time  ;   she  saw 

the  sun  o'erflow 
With  gold  the  basin  of  Minas,  and  set  over  Gasperau  ; 


MARGUERITE.  IOQ 

The  low,  bare  flats  at  ebb-tide,  the  rush  of  the  sea 

at  flood, 
Through   inlet   and   creek   and   river,  from  dike   to 

upland  wood  ; 

The  gulls   in   the  red   of  morning,   the  fish-hawk's 

rise  and  fall, 
The  drift  of  the  fog  in   moonshine,  over   the   dark 

coast-wall. 

She  saw  the  face  of  her  mother,  she  heard  the  song 

she  sang  ; 
And  far  off,  faintly,  slowly,  the  bell  for  vespers  rang ! 

By  her  bed  the  hard-faced  mistress   sat,  smoothing 

the  wrinkled  sheet, 
Peering  into  the   face,  so   helpless,  and  feeling   the 

ice-cold  feet. 


1 10  MARGUERITE. 

With  a  vague  remorse   atoning  for  her  greed  and 

long  abuse, 
By  care  no  longer  heeded  and  pity  too  late  for  use. 

Up  the  stairs   of  the  garret  softly   the   son   of  the 

mistress  stepped, 
Leaned  over  the  head-board,  covering  his  face  with 

his  hands,  and  wept. 

Outspake    the   mother,  who  watched  him   sharply, 

with  brow  a-frown  : 
"  What !  love  you  the  Papist,  the  beggar,  the  charge 

of  the  town  ? " 

"  Be  she  Papist  or  beggar  who  lies  here,  I  know  and 

God  knows 
I  love  her,  and  fain   would  go  with   her   wherever 

she  goes  ! 


MARGUERITE.  Ill 

"  O  mother  !  that  sweet  face  came  pleading,  for  love 

so  athirst. 
You   saw  but   the  town-charge;   I  knew  her  God's 

angel  at  first." 

Shaking  her  gray  head,  the   mistress  hushed  down 

a  bitter  cry  ; 
And    awed   by   the    silence  and   shadow  of  death 

drawing  nigh, 

She  murmured  a  psalm  of  the  Bible  ;  but  closer  the 

young  girl  pressed, 
With  the  last  of  her  life  in  her  fingers,  the  cross  to 

her  breast. 

"My  son,  come  away,"  cried  the  mother,  her  voice 

cruel  grown. 
"She  is  joined  to  her  idols,  like  Ephraim  ;   let  her 

alone ! " 


112  MARGUERITE. 

But  he  knelt   with   his   hand  on   her  forehead,  his 

lips  to  her  ear, 
And    he    called    back   the    soul    that   was   passing : 

"  Marguerite,  do  you  hear  ?  " 

She  paused  on  the  threshold  of  Heaven  ;  love,  pity, 

surprise, 
Wistful,  tender,  lit  up   for  an   instant   the   cloud  of 

her  eyes. 

With  his  heart  on  his  lips  he  kissed  her,  but  never 

her  cheek  grew  red, 
And  the  words  the  living  long  for  he  spake  in  the 

ear  of  the  dead. 

And  the  robins  sang  in  the  orchard,  where  buds  to 

blossoms  grew  ; 
Of  the   folded   hands   and  the   still   face   never  the 

robins  knew  ! 


KING   VOLMER   AND   ELSIE.  113 


KING  VOLMER  AND   ELSIE. 

AFTER  THE  DANISH  OF  CHRISTIAN   WINTER. 

WHERE,  over  heathen   doom-rings   and  gray  stones 

of  the  Horg, 
In   its   little   Christian   city   stands    the    church  of 

Vordingborg, 
In   merry  mood  King   Volmer   sat,  forgetful  of  his 

power, 
As  idle  as  the  Goose  of  Gold  that  brooded  on  his 

tower. 

Out    spake    the   King  to   Henrik,   his   young    and 

faithful  squire : 

"  Dar'st  trust  thy  little  Elsie,  the  maid  of  thy  desire  ? " 
"  Of  all  the  men  in  Denmark  she  loveth  only  me : 

As  true  to  me  is  Elsie  as  thy  Lily  is  to  thee." 
8 


114  KING   VOLMER   AND    ELSIE. 

Loud   laughed   the   king:   "To-morrow   shall  bring 

another  day,* 
When  I  myself  will  test  her;  she  will  not  say  me 

nay." 
Thereat   the   lords  and   gallants,  that   round   about 

him  stood, 
Wagged  all  their  heads  in  concert  and  smiled  as 

courtiers  should. 

The  gray  lark  sings   o'er  Vordingborg,  and  on  the 

ancient  town 
From  the  tall  tower  of  Valdemar  the  Golden  Goose 

looks  down : 
The  yellow  grain  is   waving   in   the   pleasant  wind 

of  morn, 
The   wood   resounds  with  cry  of  hounds   and  blare 

of  hunter's  horn. 

*  A  common  saying  of  Valdemar  ;  hence  his  sobriquet  Alterday. 


KING   VOLMER  AND   ELSIE.  1 15 

In   the   garden   of  her   father   little   Elsie   sits  and 

spins, 
And,  singing  with   the   early   birds,  her  daily  task 

begins. 
Gay  tulips  bloom  and  sweet  mint  curls  around  her 

garden-bower, 
But  she  is  sweeper  than  the  mint  and  fairer  than 

the  flower. 


About  her  form  her  kirtle  blue  clings  lovingly,  and, 
white 

As  snow,  her  loose  sleeves  only  leave  her  small, 
round  wrists  in  sight ; 

"Below  the  modest  petticoat  can  only  half  con- 
ceal 

The  motion  of  the  lightest  foot  that  ever  turned  a 
wheel. 


Il6  KING   VOLMER   AND   ELSIE. 

The  cat  sits  purring  at  her  side,  bees  hum  in  sun- 
shine warm  ; 

But,  look !  she  starts,  she  lifts  her  face,  she  shades 
it  with  her  arm. 

And,  hark  !  a  train  of  horsemen,  with  sound  of  dog 
and  horn, 

Come  leaping  o'er  the  ditches,  come  trampling  down 
the  corn ! 


Merrily  rang  the  bridle-reins,  and   scarf  and  plume 

streamed  gay, 
As  fast  beside  her  father's  gate  the  riders  held  their 

way; 
And   one  was   brave   in   scarlet  cloak,  with   golden 

spur  on  heel, 
And,  as  he  checked  his  foaming   steed,  the  maiden 

checked  her  wheel. 


KING   VOLMER   AND    ELSIE.  II? 

"All    hail    among    thy    roses,    the    fairest    rose    to 

me ! 
For  weary  months  in   secret  my  heart  has  longed 

for  thee!" 
What    noble   knight   was   this  ?      What   words   for 

modest  maiden's  ear  ? 
She  dropped  a  lowly  courtesy  of  bashfulness   and 

fear. 


She  lifted  up  her  spinning-wheel;  she  fain  would 

seek  the  door, 
Trembling  in  every  limb,  her  cheek  with  blushes 

crimsoned  o'er. 
"Nay,  fear  me  not,"  the  rider  said,  "I   offer  heart 

and  hand, 
Bear  witness  these  good  Danish  knights  who  round 

about  me  stand. 


Il8  KING   VOLMER   AND   ELSIE. 

"  I  grant  you  time   to   think  of  this,  to  answer  as 

you  may, 
For    to-morrow,   little    Elsie,    shall    bring    another 

day." 
He  spake  the  old  phrase  slyly  as,  glancing  round 

his  train, 
He   saw  his    merry  followers    seek    to    hide    their 

smiles  in  vain. 


"  The  snow  of  pearls  I  '11  scatter  in  your  curls  of 

golden  hair, 
I  '11  line  with  furs  the  velvet  of  the  kirtle  that  you 

wear ; 
All  precious  gems  shall  twine  your  neck  ;  and  in  a 

chariot  gay 
You  shall  ride,  my  little  Elsie,  behind  four  steeds 

of  gray. 


KING   VOLMER   AND   ELSIE.  119 

"And  harps  shall  sound,  and  flutes  shall  play,  and 

brazen  lamps  shall  glow ; 
On  marble  floors  your  feet  shall  weave  the  dances 

to  and  fro. 
At  frosty  eventide  for  us  the   blazing   hearth   shall 

shine, 
While,  at  our  ease,  we  play  at  draughts,  and  drink 

the  blood-red  wine." 


Then  Elsie  raised  her  head  and  met  her  wooer  face 

to  face  ; 
A  roguish  smile  shone  in  her  eye  and  on  her  lip 

found  place. 
Back  from  her  low  white  forehead  the  curls  of  gold 

she  threw, 
And  lifted  up  her  eyes  to  his  steady  and  clear  and 

blue. 


120  KING   VOLMER   AND   ELSIE. 

"  I  am  a  lowly  peasant,  and  you  a  gallant  knight ; 
I  will  not  trust  a  love  that  soon  may  cool  and  turn 

to  slight. 
If  you  would  wed  me  henceforth  be  a  peasant,  not 

a  lord ; 
I  bid  you  hang  upon  the  wall  your  tried  and  trusty 

sword." 


"To    please  you,  Elsie,   I   will  lay  keen    Dynadel 

away, 
And   in  its  place  will  swing  the  scythe  and  mow 

your  father's  hay." 
"  Nay,  but  your  gallant  scarlet  cloak  my  eyes   can 

never  bear ; 
A  Vadmal  coat,  so  plain  and   gray,  is  all  that  you 


KING  VOLMER   AND   ELSIE.  121 

"Well,  Vadmal  will  I  wear  for  you,"  the  rider  gayly 
spoke, 

"  And  on  the  Lord's  high  altar  I  '11  lay  my  scarlet 
cloak." 

"  But  mark,"  she  said,  "  no  stately  horse  my  peas- 
ant love  must  ride, 

A  yoke  of  steers  before  the  plough  is  all  that  he 
must  guide." 


The  knight   looked  down   upon  his   steed :   "  Well, 

let  him  wander  free : 
No  other  man  must  ride  the  horse  that  has  been 

backed  by  me. 
Henceforth   I  '11   tread   the  furrow  and  to  my  oxen 

talk, 
If  only  little  Elsie  beside  my  plough  will  walk." 


122  KING   VOLMER   AND   ELSIE. 

"You  must  take  from  out  your  cellar  cask  of  wine 
and  flask  and  can  ; 

The  homely  mead  I  brew  you  may  serve  a  peas- 
ant-man." 

"  Most  willingly,  fair  Elsie,  I  '11  drink  that  mead  of 
thine, 

And  leave  my  minstrel's  thirsty  throat  to  drain  my 
generous  wine." 


"  Now  break  your  shield  asunder,  and  shatter  sign 
and  boss, 

Unmeet  for  peasant-wedded  arms,  your  knightly 
knee  across. 

And  pull  me  down  your  castle  from  top  to  base- 
ment wall, 

And  let  your  plough  trace  furrows  in  the  ruins  of 
your  hall!" 


KING   VOLMER   AND    ELSIE.  123 

Then  smiled  he  with  a  lofty  pride  ;  right  well  at 
last  he  knew 

The  maiden  of  the  spinning-wheel  was  to  her  troth- 
plight  true. 

"  Ah,  roguish  little  Elsie  !  you  act  your  part  full 
well: 

You  know  that  I  must  bear  my  shield  and  in  my 
castle  dwell ! 


"  The    lions    ramping   on   that   shield   between   the 

hearts  aflame 
Keep  watch   o'er  Denmark's   honor,  and  guard  her 

ancient  name. 
For  know  that   I  am   Volmer ;    I   dwell   in   yonder 

towers, 
Who  ploughs  them  ploughs  up  Denmark,  this  goodly 

home  of  ours  ! 


124  KING   VOLMER   AND    ELSIE. 

"  I  tempt  no  more,  fair  Elsie !  your  heart  I  know 
is  true  ; 

Would  God  that  all  our  maidens  were  good  and 
pure  as  you  ! 

Well  have  you  pleased  your  monarch,  and  he  shall 
well  repay  ; 

God's  peace  !  Farewell !  To-morrow  will  bring  an- 
other day ! " 


He  lifted  up  his  bridle  hand,  he  spurred  his  good 
steed  then, 

And  like  a  whirl-blast  swept  away  with  all  his  gal- 
lant men. 

The   steel   hoofs    beat   the   rocky   path ;    again    on 

winds  of  morn 

• 

The  wood  resounds  with  cry  of  hounds  and  blare 
of  hunter's  horn. 


KING   VOLMER   AND    ELSIE.  125 

"  Thou  true  and  ever  faithful ! "  the  listening  Hen- 

rik  cried  ; 
And,   leaping   o'er   the   green    hedge,   he   stood   by 

Elsie's  side. 
None  saw   the   fond   embracing,  save,  shining  from 

afar, 
The   Golden   Goose   that   watched   them   from    the 

tower  of  Valdemar. 


O  darling  girls  of  Denmark !  of  all  the  flowers  that 

throng 
Her  vales  of  spring  the  fairest,  I  sing  for  you   my 

song. 
No  praise  as  yours  so  bravely  rewards  the  singer's 

skill  ; 
Thank  God !  of  maids  like  Elsie  the  land  has  plenty 

still ! 


THE   THREE   BELLS. 

BENEATH  the  low-hung  night  cloud 
That  raked  her  splintering  mast 

The  good  ship  settled  slowly, 
The  cruel  leak  gained  fast. 

Over  the  awful  ocean 

Her  signal  guns  pealed  out. 

Dear  God !  was  that  thy  answer 
From  the  horror  round  about  ? 


THE   THREE   BELLS.  I2/ 

A  voice  came  down  the  wild  wind, 

"  Ho !  ship  ahoy !  "  its  cry  : 
"  Our  stout  Three  Bells  of  Glasgow 

Shall  lay  till  daylight  by  ! " 

Hour  after  hour  crept  slowly, 

Yet  on  the  heaving  swells 
Tossed  up  and  down  the  ship-lights, 

The  lights  of  the  Three  Bells ! 

And  ship  to  ship  made  signals, 

Man  answered  back  to  man, 
While  oft,  to  cheer  and  hearten, 

The  Three  Bells  nearer  ran ; 

And  the  captain  from  her  taffrail 
Sent  down  his  hopeful  cry. 


128  THE   THREE   BELLS. 

"  Take  heart !  Hold  on  ! "  he  shouted, 
"  The  Three  Bells  shall  lay  by  ! " 

All  night  across  the  waters 
The  tossing  lights  shone  clear ; 

All  night  from  reeling  taffrail 
The  Three  Bells  sent  her  cheer. 

And  when  the  dreary  watches 
Of  storm  and  darkness  passed, 

Just  as  the  wreck  lurched  under. 
All  souls  were  saved  at  last. 

Sail  on,  Three  Bells,  forever, 
In  grateful  memory  sail ! 

Ring  on,  Three  Bells  of  rescue, 
Above  the  wave  and  gale  ! 


THE    THREE    BELLS. 

Type  of  the  Love  eternal, 
Repeat  the  Master's  cry, 

As  tossing  through  our  darkness 
The  lights  of  God  draw  nigh  ! 


129 


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